


Sometimes I get scared of your smile (it’s too beautiful; what if it’s fake?)

by zimriya



Series: kindling [3]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alpha Jung Yoonoh | Jaehyun, Alpha Lee Taeyong, Anal Sex, Canon Compliant, Dom/sub Undertones, Getting Together, Knotting, M/M, Minor Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten/Wong Yuk Hei | Lucas, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-25 16:55:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22499413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zimriya/pseuds/zimriya
Summary: Taeyong wonders what it says about himself that it takes Ten and Lucas getting their shit together for him to even start to think about it seriously. (But Taeyong was already an alpha in 2012, and alphas weren’t supposed to be into other alphas.)
Relationships: Jung Yoonoh | Jaehyun/Lee Taeyong
Series: kindling [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1573561
Comments: 26
Kudos: 296





	Sometimes I get scared of your smile (it’s too beautiful; what if it’s fake?)

**Author's Note:**

> Started from the bottom now we here.
> 
> Betaed by Hexmen. 
> 
> Title from “Angel” by NCT 127.

Taeyong wonders what it says about himself that it takes Ten and Lucas getting their shit together for him to even start to think about it seriously. But maybe that’s being unfair to all of them, because it’s not like Taeyong hasn’t thought about it at all.

He’s not stupid, he’s not living under a rock, and it’s really hard not to have at least _thought about it_ when it’s part of his job, basically. Taeyong has used the internet. Taeyong is perfectly aware that a good portion of their fanbase thinks he’s in love with any number of the members of NCT; the combinations sometimes even feel endless; the fan edits, impressive; the correlations, astounding. Taeyong _knows_ and _has to_ think about it, because it’s part of his job. It’s why he and Doyoung are always certain to snark back-and-forth whenever they’re on shows and why Ten says all the things he says and then some. It’s not like Taeyong ever stopped thinking about it. It’s just—

There’s something different between thinking about it, like Taeyong might have done back in 2012… in 2013… and _thinking_ about it, like Taeyong’s doing now, in 2019.

In 2012, Taeyong was eighteen-years old and nervous, and he clung to his fellow trainees because they were the only people who knew what he was going through. He clung to Youngho-hyung because he was Youngho-hyung, their sunbae, and he clung to Jaehyun because Jaehyun was pretty and kind and funny, and he had dimples and could speak English with barely any accent. It wasn’t… more than that.

Taeyong was already an alpha in 2012, and alphas weren’t supposed to be into other alphas. It didn’t matter that Taeyong didn’t look the part, that people never believed him until they met him in person, because he was thin and pretty and sometimes shy. It didn’t matter, because even in 2012, everyone knew Jaehyun was also going to be an alpha. He was sporty and tall and handsome, and when his rut came in 2015 just before SM debuted them all in NCT U, the doctors patted him on the back and sent him home for a three-day break from training.

If Taeyong ever thought Jaehyun was gorgeous in 2012, in 2013, in 2015, he put that thought to bed the moment NCT 127 started to get even remotely popular. He tucked it away close to his heart and willed himself to forget. He buried it under other things and couched it as jealousy, as if the only reason he’d be looking at someone so archetypically alpha was because he wanted to _be them_ , not… whatever. He buried the thought under their fans’ love, which was enormous, and frenetic, and what everyone told him was bound to be fickle, so Taeyong best behave. He buried it under what it felt like to win _Inkigayo, Music Bank, Music Core, Show Champion_. What it was like to step onto a stage at a concert—at their _own_ concert—and to hear an entire room shout his name.

Taeyong put the thought away where no one could touch it and hadn’t even realized he’d done it, because why would he think Jaehyun was beautiful? Why would he want to… to _fuck_ him? Taeyong wasn’t allowed to fuck anybody, was too busy to even _want_ to fuck anybody, and knew more than anyone that he was only supposed to want to fuck omegas. Taeyong presented at fourteen, and not for one moment had anyone at SM treated him as anything other than what he was. It was fine. Taeyong was fine. Taeyong thought about kissing pretty girls and wrote pretty love songs and it was _fine_ , really, because no one else in NCT was dating yet anyway. No one else was going around falling in love with anything other the experience; no one else was doing things against the status quo, opening Taeyong’s eyes beyond one plus one equals two.

Until Ten and Lucas. Until Ten and _Lucas_ , who’s twenty-one and tall and big and _nothing_ like what Taeyong was taught an omega is supposed to be. Ten and Lucas who are not an alpha and an omega, who are not abstinent and only in love with their fans, and who Taeyong would defend at the cost of his own position within the company because they’re his family.

What does it say that Ten and Lucas change Taeyong’s entire world? What does it say that because of them, Taeyong is suddenly looking at Jaehyun and… wanting? Wondering. _Needing_.

It can’t say good things.

It’s probably worth another lecture from Youngho-hyung, who hasn’t been Youngho-hyung since NCT 127 debuted. Taeyong should bury the thoughts where he’d left them in 2012, 2013, 2015. He should move on and just be happy for his friends.

Taeyong heaves out a long sigh of recycled air and shifts where he’d ended up curled in the uncomfortable plane seat with both feet tucked under him. He looks down at his phone and starts to scroll up through his messages with Ten, looking back at all the photos he’s accumulated from WayV and SuperM’s various schedules. There’s English practice and an abundance of selfies between the both of them, but there’s also a sudden influx of just Ten and Lucas at their dorm, Ten and Lucas practicing the choreography to “Jopping,” a series of dog memes Lucas apparently found funny and that Ten just had to share with his “Baby Don’t Stop” buddy, whatever that meant.

The last thing Ten’s sent him is a photo of him and Lucas from backstage at their fanmeet in Wuhan, both of them smiling and holding a WayV lightstick. Lucas has his mouth open wide and is apparently attempting to eat both lightsticks as if they were ice cream, but Ten doesn’t appear to notice, is just smiling at the camera. Ten’s said something unrepeatable underneath the photo but Taeyong doesn’t even read it, just stares down at the two of them with his insides writhing like worms.

He opens his group chat with Ten and Kun, where the sentence, `So, uh, Lucas and I are dating now, I guess?` sits stark against Taeyong’s standard KakaoTalk background, bracketed by a generic well-wish for everyone in the groupchat to sleep well, and Kun’s increasingly panicked messages as he parsed Ten’s statement and then attempted to both congratulate and put the fear of God in him.

Taeyong’s stomach twists into even more knots, and it feels a lot like jealousy. He holds the phone so tightly his hand hurts.

Because it’s not jealousy. It’s not about Ten.

Taeyong is _over_ Ten.

Taeyong was over Ten before he could even be _into_ Ten. Taeyong was never really into Ten to begin with. Ten is vibrant, and loud, and funny, but also small, and soft, and delicate. Taeyong would have been lying if he’d said he hadn’t ever _thought_ about it, but Ten is a beta, and Taeyong was an idiot in 2018. Taeyong let Ten down easy and got lectured by Youngho—by _Johnny_ -hyung—and that was the _end_ of it, before it even began, before there was even a single kiss.

Taeyong is not jealous that Lucas is dating Ten, nor is he jealous that Ten is dating Lucas, he’s just. Having relationship envy. Or something.

Taeyong spent three hours in a room with his past sobbing the moment they landed back in Seoul from Los Angeles last month; Taeyong tattooed the words _UNDER_ and _STAND_ on himself forever; Taeyong’s trying to be a better person in time for the new decade, one who wouldn’t need to get lectures from Johnny-hyung and who wouldn’t need to think before leaping to Lucas’ defense the moment some SM higher up tried to cause a fuss about “WayV’s alpha” not being one.

Taeyong is not jealous about Ten.

Taeyong is just _struggling_ , because Ten is in a relationship with _Lucas_ , and it’s not supposed to work like that.

It’s not that it’s Ten; it’s not that it’s Lucas; it’s that Ten is a beta and Lucas is an omega, and Taeyong feels the implications of their relationship like a wave tumbling over him, filling his eyes with saltwater and coloring the world brand new. Ten’s a beta and Lucas is an omega and they’re not supposed to _work like that_. They’re not supposed to laugh and smile and fit together so obviously that even the fans notice. They’re not supposed to be one of the more popular pairings in SuperM, not supposed to be so easily accepted, so easily defended—Baekhyun-hyung pulling Taeyong aside to make sure he’s ready to face the music when they all fly back to SM with a newly presented Lucas in the morning.

Ten and Lucas aren’t supposed to make sense, but they do, and Taeyong—

Taeyong doesn’t know what to _do_ with that.

Taeyong said he was going to be better in 2020, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to start thinking about things long buried, or reexamining things he thought were out of his reach. It doesn’t mean he’s looking any differently at Jaehyun, at how he stands, how he smiles, how he always fluffs his hair in reflective surfaces, and never turns down a friend in need.

Taeyong’s just… _happy_ for Ten and Lucas.

That’s all.

Really.

Only—Jaehyun gave Taeyong his first kiss, back before they were no more than rookies. Jaehyun gave Taeyong his first kiss, back when he was skinny and too pale and definitely going to be an alpha, because he was good at any and all sports. Back when they fought even worse than now, because they didn’t have almost eight years of friendship holding them together. Back when they were young and dumb and just exhausted enough for it to be a good idea to play truth or dare with just two people.

If Taeyong were unearthing things long buried, he’d probably think Jaehyun must taste different now, in 2019, as an alpha. He’s all grown up now. Still skinny, still too pale, still good at any and all sports. They still fight like it’s the end of the world, because now there are hormones and pheromones and the fact that Jaehyun might actually be more stubborn than Taeyong, when it comes to certain things.

Taeyong doesn’t remember what Jaehyun tastes like, really, and it’s easier to just think about that time they all went around licking each other for the hell of it, to extrapolate out that little bit of salt and foundation and come up with strawberry ice cream. But then maybe it was just the hair, even though Jaehyun’s not pink anymore. Maybe it’s just because Taeyong’s always said Jaehyun’s cheeks are like mochi ice cream.

But Taeyong isn’t thinking about it, isn’t unearthing things long buried, is only staring down at his texts with Ten, vacantly, for twenty minutes of their plane ride to New York because he didn’t want to pay for Wi-Fi and can’t respond until they land nearly fourteen hours later.

Taeyong doesn’t think it’s cute when Jaehyun forgets his passport on the plane, and certainly doesn’t want to murder a fansite for having the gall to spread that information around like she’s privy to Jaehyun’s life simply for supporting and wanting only good things from him, or whatever.

Taeyong texts Ten back, `Do you ever do anything without Lucas, now?` and immediately gets the middle finger emoji in response.

Taeyong shoves his phone into his pocket and decides to ignore Ten and his relationship for the remainder of their stay in the US. He’s never thought about omegas and betas, or alphas and alphas, and he’s not starting now, not wondering now, not noticing that Jaehyun is _fucking gorgeous_ , for an alpha; as an alpha, _now_.

Taeyong just has jetlag and relationship-envy because this is the first time anyone in NCT has ever paired off.

That’s all.

* * *

On November 29, NCT 127 film an assortment of Christmas videos. It’s hilarious, because it’s not even December, and they’re all a little too freshly high off the end of American Thanksgiving to properly celebrate Christmas, but at this point, they’re all so used to the date nonsense that it’s easy to put on reindeer antlers and Santa hats to decorate a Christmas Tree. Jaehyun and Donghyuck both have flights back to Seoul later that day for individual and Dream promotions, and this year’s Gayo Daejeon is on Christmas Day, so Taeyong already knows there won’t be time for a proper NCT Christmas. He’d have liked to at least have Dream and WayV here with them as well, but it’s still nicer than nothing. Besides, their combined stage at the end of year programs means Dream and 127 will all be spending time in practices rooms together beforehand. WayV have promotions in China and Japan that will have them out of the country more often than in, but that’s what smartphones are for. Taeyong can just video call Ten, or Kun.

The point is this is as good of a real Christmas together that they’re going to get, so Taeyong clings to it with everything. It’s a lot less personal than if they’d been in their dorm alone, but not even all the lights, cameras, and staff can ruin the cheery atmosphere of their New York brownstone; it really feels like Christmas morning, surrounded by almost everyone important in Taeyong’s life.

They divvy up the roles, and Jaehyun and Yuta agree they’ll set up the tree. It’s a lot—Jaehyun’s wearing jeans and a cream sweater and he keeps alternating between having the sleeves rolled up and having freaking… sweater paws. Yuta is wearing reindeer antlers and his hair is still long and parted to the side, and Taeyong thinks he ought to be just as affected by that, because God knows their fans have been inconsolable wrecks over Yuta-oppa’s fucking _ponytail_ , but he only has eyes for Jaehyun, in his sweater, and his jeans, commandeering the tree set up.

He’s wearing a Santa hat and when he smiles, he shows both of his dimples. This is not new. Jaehyun has literally always had dimples. On their horrific first live show with Heechul-sunbaenim, Taeyong went on and on about how pretty and pale Jaehyun was, decided his nickname was going to be “whitey” and then made sure everyone knew all about Jaehyun’s muscles. Jaehyun dimpled and spent a lot of time talking about his dimples. Half of Jaehyun’s fansites have the word in their title.

Taeyong should not be having the reaction he’s having.

He is though, wringing his hands, hiding under his own Santa hat, and looking resolutely forward.

“Hyung, are you okay?” Doyoung mutters, purposefully avoiding his microphone and watching Yuta and Jaehyun fruitlessly try to assemble the tree with only half an eye.

“Yeah.” Taeyong nods, and his response isn’t even picked up by his own microphone because of how quiet it is. He pats himself on the knee a little self-deprecatingly, and now Doyoung’s lips are twitching with more than disapproval. _I’m fine_ , Taeyong tries to say with just his eyes. He is fine. He’ll be fine. They have almost a full week off once they finish their end of year American promotions and Taeyong can spend all of it applying liberal amounts of ice to his leg and jumping through his doctor’s (and concerned members’) hoops.

Doyoung gives him one last glance, before turning his attention back to Jaehyun and Yuta’s failure with the tree.

There’s going to have to be quite a lot of cutting for this part of the video, a fact for which Taeyong is very grateful. Jaehyun keeps bending down and hoisting the fake pine and Taeyong is so fucking glad to be sitting behind Mark and Donghyuck with his coat in his lap. Not that he needs a coat in his lap, because Taeyong is the paragon of put together and not at all laughing nervously and/or being of no use to Donghyuck and Mark, who are actually doing their best to try to assemble the lights. Taeyong should stand up. Taeyong doesn’t.

Doyoung looks at him one last time with narrowed eyes, before crossing the room in time for Jaehyun and Yuta to maybe get the tree moderately together. It falls straight apart.

“When you’re done with the tree, bring it over here,” Doyoung says, a few moments after that. Johnny’s rummaging through a bag of supplies of some sort, the lights are almost together, and Donghyuck is going on loudly about how Taeil-hyung’s only footage is going to be of him lighting a candle.

Jaehyun hammers the tree together with his right palm, still crouched down in the sweater, jeans, and Santa hat, and Taeyong feels his soul leave his body. He decides that the moment he gets home he’s going to find Ten and fucking shake him, because what the fuck? This is clearly _all Ten’s fault_ , and Ten is going to help him, or regret it.

“Hyung?” Doyoung is still looking at Taeyong with mild concern, and Taeyong decides it’s time to get his shit together.

He gets to his feet. “We should roll this up, right?” he says, holding onto the end of the string of lights as Donghyuck twists the rest of it pointlessly around in the air, pointing, and Mark, Doyoung, and Taeil-hyung look on.

Taeil-hyung threatens to plug the lights into Donghyuck, Mark seems unnecessarily upset about the fact that they might turn it on before they’re all ready, and in between it all, Taeyong can’t help but notice that Jaehyun is taking photos; first a quick shot of Doyoung and Mark, and then what looks like an actual selfie.

Yuta and Johnny have ended up quietly in the corner, working on more decorations.

Taeyong raises his voice for the sake of acting like he knows what he’s doing, and puts the star on the tree.

It works out fine. The rest of filming goes perfectly fine. Taeyong would go so far as to say that he’s the picture of professionalism.

“Hyung,” says Doyoung, the moment the cameras stop rolling. He pulls the antlers off his head and shakes out his pink hair, eyeing Taeyong dubiously.

“What, hi, I’m fine,” says Taeyong and goes to grab a manager-hyung so he can be extra leader-like.

“Uh-huh,” he hears Doyoung say as he leaves, but very quickly Doyoung is distracted by Taeil-hyung, pulling away from the grip Donghyuck has on him to blink at him.

“Did you say something, Doyoungie?”

Doyoung shoots Taeyong one final look but shakes his head. “No, Hyung.”

Taeyong escapes to Nari-noona’s side, hat almost falling down over his ears. He rights it with one hand and leans in close to stare down at the iPad she’s got their schedule pulled up on. Donghyuck and Jaehyun’s flight times and check-in information are the most glaring thing.

“Taeyong-ah,” she says, not looking away from where she’s typing purposefully on what looks like another iPad. “Can I help you with something?”

Nari-noona was their new manager in 2018 for “Regular,” but now she’s not shy in the slightest, and might take the cake for the most terrifying beta Taeyong knows at the company.

“Erm, no,” he says, and goes off to find someone else to bother. Mark, maybe. Or Johnny.

He doesn’t text Ten.

Taeyong probably wouldn’t like what he’d say in response, anyway.

* * *

When it’s time for Jaehyun to leave for JFK later that evening, Taeyong decides he’s not going to go out to say goodbye. That would be really weird and overbearing; Jaehyun’s an adult, with his own schedule, and he’s been doing _Inkigayo_ for a while now so it’s not like he needs babysitting. Taeyong really only notices he’s leaving because he’d grabbed one of the rooms on the ground floor of the place they’re staying, and had been standing in the middle of it fiddling with nothing, wondering if they’d let him bake something. The rest of them are upstairs or begging off for final visits around New York before they fly to Los Angeles in the morning.

Taeyong is alone, and Jaehyun can be heard in the front room putting on shoes and his coat. Byoungjun-hyung can also be heard, arguing quietly with Yongjae-hyung over whether they’re going to take a cab or use one of the vans, because doing so means someone has to drive there and back. Taeyong listens to that with half an ear, and tells himself it’s because he’s just trying to be a considerate, good leader.

He’s not overbearing, he’s not some sort of helicopter parent, and he’s not going to leave the room. Instead Taeyong decides to go over to his suitcase and busy himself straightening it out from where he’d left it under a window when they arrived. He ought to pack before tomorrow, so that he’ll have very little to do in preparation for tomorrow’s flight. He opens his suitcase, starts to go through his neatly folded clothes, and picks up a pink hat.

“Aren’t you going to wear a hat? You’ll be cold at home,” Taeyong hears Nari-noona say from outside the room.

They’re all cold here, but Taeyong finds himself holding his breath anyway, waiting for Jaehyun’s answer. That’s weird. That’s more than just your usual overbearing, helicopter parenting. Jaehyun’s not even Taeyong’s real child, what the fuck?

“I’ll be fine,” Jaehyun says.

Taeyong gnaws furiously on his bottom lip.

Nari-noona sounds dubious. “Okay,” she says, clearly about zero percent convinced. “Well—are you driving?”

“Taxi,” Byoungjun-hyung decides, sighing. “Easier.”

Jaehyun’s dimples are practically audible. “It’s the real New York experience,” he says.

Byoungjun-hyung snorts. “Paying through the nose to go a few blocks?”

Taeyong can almost taste Jaehyun’s shrug, and that’s also worrying. He feels all stretched thin, like he’s seconds from doing something incredibly stupid. He’s still holding his pink Acne Studios beanie, the fabric growing warm between his palms. He swallows.

“You should leave soon,” Nari-noona says, to agreement from the rest of the present staff, and Taeyong can hear the sounds of them all dispersing, Jaehyun taking a few steps closer to the door.

He doesn’t know why he does it, what prompts him to even move, but he finds himself out his door and striding into the foyer, the name, “Jaehyun-ah!” falling easily from his lips.

Jaehyun’s standing in the foyer in all black, the bottom of his white t-shirt peeking out from under his hoodie. He’s got a mask around his left ear, his AirPods already in but probably not on, and he stares at Taeyong curiously, one hand coming up to hide his yawn. “Hyung?” He’s washed the makeup off from the shoot, but besides having more moles than before, his skin is still pale and flawless.

Taeyong has to take a few moments to just sort of stare at him, heart going faster than normal. “I—” he says, standing there awkwardly while their staff doesn’t even give him a passing glance. “You,” Taeyong continues, trying to fight the urge to reach out and straighten Jaehyun’s flyaway hair. “You should wear a hat,” Taeyong ends up with. Nari-noona was the one who said it originally but she was right, it is cold, and colder in Seoul, and Jaehyun’s ears look pale, and thin, and need to be protected.

Jaehyun stares at Taeyong, then down at Taeyong’s hands, and Taeyong realizes he’s still holding the Acne Studios beanie.

Taeyong swallows.

Jaehyun raises a brow.

“Here,” Taeyong says, before he can think better of it, and steps even closer so he can put the hat on Jaehyun’s head. It’s definitely a mistake because Jaehyun hasn’t showered since finishing their schedules—no doubt finding it pointless, so soon before embarking on a long flight. He smells sweet, and tired, and _good_ , and Taeyong nearly bites his own tongue off to keep from breathing in too deeply. “Uh,” he says, letting go of the hat and stepping back quickly. “I know you just bought your own, but like.” He licks nervously at his lips. “You look good in pink.”

There’s another long beat.

Taeyong has the bizarre urge to do more, to straighten the hat, to straighten Jaehyun’s hair, to investigate just what sort of coat Jaehyun’s wearing to JFK—maybe even get him gloves—and it’s one of the weirder experiences of Taeyong’s life, right up there with the first time he went into rut in the seventh grade and nobody caught on to what was happening until a full day had passed, because Taeyong was so young, and Taeyong had always been very aware of cleanliness, and Taeyong was absolutely _not_ going to tell his family that something weird was going on in his pants. For some reason Taeyong kind of wants to _baby_ Jaehyun, and it’s so similar to how he gets in early April before his suppressants start working that Taeyong kind of just starts to let his soul leave his body.

Jaehyun reaches up to hook the mask around his other ear, and then tips forward so he can arrange the beanie better on his head. A few stray strands of hair fall out from under it when he does so, fluttering in the air between them. There’s no wind—they’re inside—that’s got to be Taeyong’s loud, heavy breathing that’s ruffling Jaehyun’s hair, but he can’t seem to make himself stop. After a pause, Jaehyun tucks the hair back into the hat. He looks down at Taeyong from behind his mask. “Hyung?”

“Yes?” Taeyong tries not to lose his mind. What the fuck is he doing?

Byoungjun-hyung seems to come back online, looking up from his phone to blink between the two of them. “Taeyong-ah? Jaehyun-ah?”

Jaehyun twists to look at him, finally breaking eye contact with Taeyong, who spends a few precious seconds breathing frantically and trying to figure out the best way to do an am-I-for-some-reason-in-rut-in- _November_? checkup in one of the bathrooms later.

Nari-noona traipses back into the foyer and takes one look at Jaehyun and smiles. “Oh good, you’ve got a hat.”

Taeyong wants to melt into the floor.

“Taeyong-ah? Did you need something?”

“Noona, hi,” Taeyong says, trying to step away. “Uh, Jaehyunnie—”

“Thanks, Hyung,” says Jaehyun, smiling at him from behind the mask. Taeyong can’t see his dimples but his eyes are twinkling and it’s unfair, what that’s doing to him.

He dips his head in acknowledgement.

Jaehyun doesn’t even bother to hide another yawn.

“You’ll sleep on the plane?” Taeyong says, the instinct to protect and nurture still not going away, even as he tries desperately to fight it. Maybe he can pay someone to go buy him over the counter suppressants, even though they’re in the US, and he can just take a bunch until his dick calms down. His dick actually seems fine—Taeyong certainly isn’t going to investigate that currently—but the level of hyper-awareness and desire to take care of someone is not something Taeyong’s used to outside of rut. It might be November, but what does Mother Nature care about things like seasons when she could instead torment Taeyong. Maybe that explains all that nonsense on the plane, all that jealousy. (Taeyong’s just tired enough from all their American schedules that he can admit it’s some sort of jealousy, although hell if he’s examining what type.)

“—are you even listening to me, Taeyong-hyung?” says Jaehyun suddenly, and Taeyong nearly swallows his own tongue.

“Yes!” he says. “Yes! I—Have a good flight.”

“Okay.” Jaehyun’s eyes are crinkling up again and it’s really not okay that the dimples are hidden behind his face mask. “But you’ll do what I said for your leg?”

Taeyong has no idea what advice Jaehyun’s offered for Taeyong’s aches and pains, because he’s too distracted by Jaehyun’s smile, by how he smells, wearing Taeyong’s hat. Hats are good. Humans lose most of their body heat through their heads, Taeyong thinks he read once, heard somewhere, picked up from fans, maybe. It’ll do Jaehyunnie good to be bundled up. Taeyong’s glad he bundled him up, even though he’s not sure why he even feels the urge to do so. He almost glares at Jaehyun, at his still crinkled, slightly-more worried looking eyes.

At where Taeyong can’t see his dimples, because of the mask.

“It’s unfair,” Taeyong finds himself muttering, unable to help himself. “It’s like you’re missing a limb.”

Jaehyun blinks. “What?”

“Nothing, Jaehyunnie, _nothing_ ,” says Taeyong loudly, looking frantically around the space for anything to use as a distraction. There’s nothing but coats and some luggage and Jaehyun’s chosen entourage, but Taeyong does spot Doyoung passing by the bottom of the stairs, on his phone, not looking where he’s going. “Doyoung-ah!”

Doyoung looks up and stops, head tilting. “Hyung? Oh, bye, Jaehyun—”

Jaehyun dips his head politely in response, already starting to step where Byoungjun-hyung prompts. “Bye, Doyoung-hyung. Taeyong-hyung,” he says.

“Bye, Jaehyunnie, have a nice flight, I love you,” Taeyong says quickly, as Byoungjun-hyung opens the door to their brownstone. Cold New York air rushes in, momentarily blinding Taeyong, and making him shut his eyes. It’s good. It means he can’t really see Jaehyun when he leaves, can’t see the expression on his face, or read the judgment in his eyes.

Taeyong just said that.

Taeyong _just said that_.

Taeyong just _meant that_ , and not in their usual, we’re-all-basically-family-NCT-forever-fighting sort of way. Taeyong meant that in a I-want-to-basically- _be-_ family-NCT-Jaehyun-forever-fighting sort of way. Taeyong meant that in a non-platonic, non-sibling-like sort of way. Taeyong’s brain-to-mouth filter has up and left the building to go back to Seoul with Jaehyun, clearly, and he’s left behind to rue the results.

The door shuts between them with a boom that Taeyong feels in his teeth.

He stands there for a few horrified seconds, not daring to move.

Finally, Doyoung seems to gather himself. “Hyung,” he says slowly, coming further out of the doorway with his phone dangling at his side. His hair is pink and falling in his eyes. “Did you just tell Jaehyunnie—”

“Dongyoung-ah!” Taeyong wails, turning to face him with frankly unnecessary dramatics that he really can’t help. “I just told Jaehyunnie that I _love him_!”

Doyoung gets a look on his face like he always does when they use his real name, because of all of them, he’s the one who does his best to use the names they’ve picked for themselves. Taeyong would normally apologize and that would be the end of it, but Taeyong is ninety percent certain that Doyoung may actually refer to Jaehyun as “Yuno,” and he just can’t right now. (Taeyong does his best to pretend that the Yunho-sunbaenim Wet Dream Situation never happened—it didn’t happen, and if it did, Taeyong’s body was just the worst and it was involuntary and just because he was young and Yunho-sunbaenim was his idol and he’d just found out the man was semi-attainable despite being basically married on the basis of their compatible biology and—

Taeyong can’t.)

“Doyoung-ah!” he says.

Doyoung still looks displeased, but he closes his mouth. “Yes, well, we all love each other,” he says. “We tell each other that all the time.” He pauses. “Well. Not all the time. Not. A lot.” He frowns. “Do we not tell you we love you enough, Hyung?”

Taeyong glares at him.

Doyoung looks right back, utterly unbothered. “I love you, Taeyong-hyung,” he says.

Taeyong rolls his eyes. “Me too,” he says back, adopting some overdone agyeo.

Doyoung smirks. “See,” he says. “It’s not a big deal.”

Taeyong pointedly doesn’t say that it really is, because he’s not an idiot with a death wish.

He texts Ten, `Sorry`, and gets back a, `Jealousy turns you into a dick, Taeyong-hyung`, in immediate return.

He does his best to put his feelings back where they were buried in 2012.

* * *

Somehow, Taeyong holds it together for a full six days without Jaehyun and Donghyuck. They’re in Los Angeles working until the fourth, so it’s not like he’s not busy, and the change in weather is lovely, even though it’s still cold in California. His leg is acting up again, leftover pain from overuse and one bad misstep in practice that good rest really would fix, but Taeyong has schedules and Taeyong loves his life and it’s not like he hurts all the time. He can always beg massages off managers and mostly they film press and he and Mark get to work on a new song, something they’re tentatively calling “Undercover.”

Taeyong has a good time in Los Angeles and only panics slightly on the morning of the fifth when he realizes Jaehyun and Donghyuck are due back into the country any minute. He ultimately acts like a leader and not like some teenager with a crush when he sees them both that morning at the hotel. They look exhausted and more than a little jet lagged despite having only been on the other side of the world for six days, but they’re both clearly excited to be performing with the likes of Lizzo, Bazzi, and Halsey.

Jaehyun’s got a hat on and his AirPods in and he’s humming “I.F.L.Y.” when Taeyong catches them coming out of the elevator on their floor of the hotel. Taeyong’s trying to play the check-in as something he’d do normally, and not happening because he’s still fucked up from confessing his undying affection to one of them six days prior, but he thinks he’s failed on that front.

Donghyuck shoots him an unimpressed look, clearly the more tired of the two since he’s been in and out of Seoul for the Dream Shows as opposed to just doing one music program on a Sunday. He doesn’t say anything, though, so Taeyong just smiles and takes his bag and carries it purposefully through the hotel hallway until he finds Taeil-hyung’s room.

Donghyuck follows him wordlessly, frown hidden behind his mask but showcased to them all by scent alone, and hat pulled down over his tired eyes.

They knock. The door opens. “Full Sun!” Taeil-hyung says when he sees them. He pauses, blinking. “Taeyong-ah?”

“Rehearsal’s in a bit,” Taeyong tells him, a bit desperately, then dumps Donghyuck’s bag at Taeil-hyung’s feet, retreating and trying his best to avoid all eye contact.

“What’s up with him—”

“I literally do not care,” Donghyuck says loudly, as the door starts to swing shut. “I am napping for as long as possible and that is final—”

Taeyong turns and hurries back the way he came where he finds Jaehyun still standing by the elevators with the hat on, but the AirPods tucked away in his pockets. He smiles down at Taeyong. “Are we sharing?” he says.

Taeyong thinks about the photos Ten sent him of Jaehyun on _Inkigayo_ last Sunday, styled with curly hair, freckles, and freaking… cat ears. He thinks about how Ten really sees too much and how he wrestled the secret out of Taeyong with only a few well aimed messages; how, `Jealousy makes you a dick, Taeyong-hyung`, became, `Is there are reason you’re being such a dick, Taeyong-hyung?` became Taeyong spilling the whole sordid story, ending with Ten going radio-silent and Taeyong nearly biting his nails bloody. Doyoung had to drag him into the bathroom and force his hands under the sink, lips pursed, and disapproval coming off him in waves.

`Sorry, had a schedule`, Ten said almost an hour afterwards. `Aw, Taeyongie-hyung, congratulations.`

Taeyong had just stared down at his phone helplessly.

`Oh, YangYang’s calling. He wants to borrow my Netflix`, Ten continued, and then vanished, only to resurface at like 11 p.m. LA time with a looping image of Jaehyun wearing cat ears. They were very cute cat ears. Taeyong might have saved the .gif.

Taeyong swallows. “I mean, only if you want,” he says to Jaehyun. There’s always a way to shuffle them around with managers, and there’s a reason Taeyong’s got his own room in the dorm.

Jaehyun just smiles back at Taeyong with full dimples, then dips his head. “No, it’s fine,” he says. “It’s just that we haven’t roomed together in a while, is all.”

Taeyong does his best not to chew off his own tongue six hours before their performance. “I, uh,” he says, trying to fill the silence as they file down the corridor towards their own room, Byoungjun-hyung yawning and trailing them looking down at his phone. “How was _Inkigayo_?”

That’s a bad conversation choice, because of the aforementioned curly hair, freckles, and cat ears. It also reminds Taeyong of the message he sent Ten, the painfully typed out: `well I don’t know if Doyoungie told you but I might have told Jaehyunnie I love him and I meant it like how you love Lucas but he hasn’t said anything and it’s been hours and he landed in Korea—I saw fansite photos—what do I do?`

Taeyong shudders just remembering it.

“Good.” Jaehyun doesn’t seem affected by Taeyong’s minor crisis. “The fans were cute.” He ducks his head. “How have things been here?”

“Oh, good,” Taeyong says. “We did some press. Met that fan with 82minutes. Mark and I recorded a song.” They reach the door, and Taeyong inserts his card to open the room. “Boring stuff.”

Jaehyun hauls his bag in one-handed, yawning. “Your songs are never boring, Taeyongie-hyung.” He swipes a thumb across his mouth.

Taeyong stares at him.

Byoungjun-hyung stares at _Taeyong_.

Taeyong manages a smile. “Rehearsal when?”

Byoungjun-hyung narrows his eyes at Taeyong but parrots their call time back to him anyway without consulting a schedule.

“Right, see you then,” Taeyong says, crosses the threshold, and shuts the door in his face. He only feels a little bad about it. His leg kind of hurts. That’s worrying.

“That was mean,” says Jaehyun from behind him, already picking the bed closest to the door like Taeyong hasn’t put his stuff all over it. “He sat in the middle seat and everything.”

Taeyong thinks about what’s it’s like to fly with fansites, and shudders. “I should apologize,” he says. “Right? I should apologize? I’ll go apologize—” He finds himself moving to do so, but before he can, he’s stopped by Jaehyun’s hands on his shoulders, Jaehyun’s shockingly dark eyes staring deep into Taeyong’s own.

“Taeyongie-hyung,” he says gently.

Taeyong’s dumb heart starts doing awful, awful things. “Yeah?” he manages. He can already feel his tongue trying to form words, can already feel the urge to say even more stupid things, like, “Did you eat at all when you were home?” and, “You look like you need a nap. Do you want to nap? I’ll be very, very quiet,” and, “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

“How’s your leg?” Jaehyun asks. He’s got both thumbs rubbing at where Taeyong’s arms meet his torso, and it’s really distracting.

“Fine,” says Taeyong quickly, which is only a lie because all of his muscles have locked up in what he can’t deny is just plain panic.

Jaehyun’s still holding him and staring at him and smiling and Taeyong feels faint. “Do you want a massage?” he says. His eyes are practically sparkling, like he finds Taeyong’s distress amusing, but instead of hating him for it, Taeyong just feels charmed. Jaehyunnie’s such an enigma, such an oxymoron, such a—what was Taeyong saying?

He takes a stumbling step backward, which actually does make his leg hurt a little (and Jaehyun’s eyes stop looking charmed and actually start to look a little scary) but Taeyong forces a smile onto his face anyway. “No, I’m fine, Jaehyun-ah,” he says.

For a few seconds, they’re both frozen in the hotel room with Jaehyun’s hands outstretched between them and Taeyong’s heart doing its best to leap out into them. Then Jaehyun takes his hands away and goes back over towards his bed, dragging the zip open on his carryon and rummaging around for a change of clothes. “I’m going to shower,” he decides, even though they’ll go through hair and make up and then _performing_ only six hours later.

Taeyong nods. “Cool,” he says, and gets a smirk in response. “I’ll, uh, be here, then.”

Jaehyun hardly shoots him a glance on his way into the bathroom, down to only his jeans and a t-shirt. His feet are bare. Taeyong hasn’t asked him anything about the “I love you” thing, and he doesn’t think he should—doesn’t think he could bear the answer.

He raises his voice to be heard over the bathroom vent anyway, says, “Hey, so are we—we’re good, right, Jaehyun-ah?” anyway because he can’t help himself, has been staring at that .gif of Jaehyun in the cat ears since he received it four days ago and ruminating, unable to problem solve, unable to think, unable to stop repeating his own confession on a never-ending loop.

“Yeah?” Jaehyun says, tone almost amused, and Taeyong decides he’ll go bother Mark instead. Or maybe Johnny—anything but this.

“Awesome—I—have a nice shower, Jaehyunnie,” Taeyong says, and then wants to bang his head loudly against the wall.

* * *

Jaehyun forces Mark out of his usual spot next to him with only a look, and so Taeyong is forced to sit next to Jaehyun and Donghyuck for the entire ride to the SAP Center later that afternoon. Mark grudgingly takes the front seat next to Inhwan-hyung, and it seems a nap has done wonders for Donghyuck, who is infinitely more effervescent.

Taeyong hums and nods and enters the conversation when needed, but it’s mostly Mark and Donghyuck trading Dream stories. Thankfully, nobody ripped open their shirt in Bangkok, but Donghyuck is still complaining. “Listen, Mark-hyung, you don’t understand,” he says, in a tone that suggests he finds the whole thing much funnier than his words would imply. “It’s awful.”

Taeyong wagers it is awful, but Donghyuck is clearly also semi-amused by the awfulness.

“Car rides are awful,” he says. “Plane rides. Plane rides are _awful_.”

Mark blinks back at Donghyuck, turned almost all the way around in his seat, to Inhwan-hyung’s clear distress. “But I mean. You have Chenle, now?”

Taeyong winces as he always does when reminded of the fact that the only unpresented person in Dream is Jisung, now.

Donghyuck is waving a hand. “Chenle is even scarier,” he says.

Taeyong decides the wiser course of action is just to ignore the both of them, so he turns instead to look out the window. He ends up face to face with a full, unhindered view of Jaehyun, bangs falling into his eyes, and still pointedly on his phone. He’s smirking a little like he finds Mark and Donghyuck’s conversation hilarious, but Taeyong doesn’t spare maknae line more than a passing thought. He’s too taken aback by how pretty Jaehyun is. Taeyong swallows.

“We can’t talk about that, Mark-hyung!” Donghyuck is saying loudly. “Chenle is a _child—_ ”

“He’s only a year younger than you—”

“A _child_!”

“Okay, but he’s been in heat—”

“A _child_!”

Jaehyun’s lips twitch so quickly Taeyong thinks he’s imagined it, and then he licks at them. “Taeyong-hyung,” he says quietly, not looking away from his phone. “Hyung. Hey.”

Taeyong snaps out of his horror at the fact that almost all of Dream are now presented immediately. “Yes?”

“So. Are we—we’re good, right?” says Jaehyun, even getting Taeyong’s inflections right, and Taeyong suddenly wants to strangle him. He also still wants to kiss him, but he’s at peace with that now. It’s been six days, and likely Taeyong’s wanted to kiss Jaehyun for far longer—since the first time they met when they were both SM Rookies, even.

Taeyong nudges Jaehyun in the shoulder. “Rude,” he grouses.

Jaehyun keeps his phone in front of his face, but he does turn to look at Taeyong with crinkles in the corners of his eyes and one perfectly pokeable dimple to the side of his perfectly kissable mouth. “Well?” he says.

Taeyong feels faint. “Well, what?” he says, almost horrified because it’s been almost eight years and he should be better than this; hell, he’s stood and performed on stage with U-Know Yunho-sunbaenim, for God’s sake. Taeyong shouldn’t be taken out by freaking _dimples_. One dimple. Taeyong wants to _marry_ that dimple. Or maybe just marry Jaehyun. What the hell? What the hell? What the hell?

“Well, are we okay?” says Jaehyun, back to scrolling the internet on his phone. He stifles a yawn in the collar of his puffy, blue coat, then seems to get distracted fluffing his hair in the reflection of his phone.

Taeyong fumbles desperately for words. “Yeah,” he manages, which was what Jaehyun said in the bathroom. Somehow Jaehyun sounded calm and collected when he said it and Taeyong just sounds panicked and freaked out. “Yeah, we’re good—”

Taeyong shoots a quick look at Donghyuck, who has moved on from updating Mark on what it’s like in Dream now that Jeno and Jaemin are fully presented adults, and is now absorbed in his own phone.

“I—”

When Taeyong turns back to him, Jaehyun is looking at Taeyong a bit sharply, and he even starts to put down his phone.

“Mark-yah,” Taeyong says desperately, quickly turning forwards. “What were the teams we went to see in LA? At the Staples Center?” For once the English comes out without any tripping, but Mark is still stunned silent by the sudden question.

He blinks at Taeyong a few times in the rearview mirror, then answers anyway. “The Clippers and the Trail Blazers,” he says, eyes darting across the mirror to land briefly on Jaehyun, where they stay for a horrible amount of time. “Why—”

“It was fun,” Taeyong says, looking between Donghyuck and Jaehyun both, never daring to focus on either of them for too long. “You should come next time. Both of you. All of us. 127.”

Donghyuck doesn’t stop typing on his phone. “Taeyong-hyung, you’re very high tension again,” he says, and somehow Taeyong manages to breathe.

“I—”

“I wish I could have gone,” interjects Jaehyun, putting a calming hand on Taeyong’s jittery knee and finally pocketing his phone. He’s back to smiling serenely at Taeyong, no longer looking at Taeyong like he’s going to dissect him. It’s relaxing. Taeyong almost feels like all of his nervous energy is getting suctioned right out of him through that point of contact, funneling up his knee into Jaehyun’s hand and leaving him significantly more at peace. Jaehyun will probably use that energy to say something startlingly insightful at their next interview, or channel it into the speech Johnny and Mark will no doubt force him to give at Poptopia. (“You need to practice your English, Jaehyun-hyung. The fans love it. You’ll only get better if you try.”)

Taeyong stills and feels calm. _We are good_ , he thinks to himself, because they are. Saying “I love you” is only weird if you make it, if you’re some sort of macho-man who hates to have feelings. That’s never been Taeyong’s problem; Taeyong’s always said he feels too much.

And really, they are good; great, even. They’re holding hands when Jaehyun loses at Rock Paper Scissors and their dressing room has to be the makeup room. They meet Lizzo and Bazzi and have a great time on stage with their fans. It’s good and Taeyong’s good and clearly Jaehyun’s thought nothing about Taeyong’s word vomit from the twenty-ninth.

Which would be amazing, if now Taeyong wasn’t off balance because Jaehyun’s clearly thought nothing about his word vomit from the twenty-ninth, and his word vomit from the twenty-ninth wasn’t run of the mill. It wasn’t everyday. Wasn’t… something to think nothing of. The word vomit was “I love you” and Taeyong meant it and Jaehyun doesn’t seem to care.

But, like. Poptopia is really fun. Lizzo is really excited to run into them backstage, and all.

* * *

It only gets worse when they land at O’Hare the next day. Most of them are staying with Johnny at his house, but Donghyuck and Taeil-hyung decide they’d rather stay in the hotel with their team and managers, which leaves only Mark, Jaehyun, Taeyong, Doyoung, and Yuta to fight it out over beds. Two of them are going to end up on the futon that Doyoung and Mark shared last time. Two of them are going to have to use an air mattress. Someone else is going to have to share with Johnny. It’s fine; the beds on their tour bus for the North American tour were smaller, although they didn’t sleep in that very seriously.

“Alpha squad,” Yuta dubs them, laughing at the face Donghyuck pulls and ignoring Johnny’s eye-rolls in the background.

“Just you wait until Jungwoo-hyung comes back next month,” Donghyuck says, like 127 aren’t mostly alphas regardless.

Yuta just laughs and waves as they pull out of Johnny’s driveway with a squeal of wheels.

Johnny’s home is as welcoming as it was the first time, and they all eat way too much food for the day before a concert, stay up way too late poking around Johnny’s childhood home for the day before a concert. They’re there for the same amount of time as they were last time, but the welcoming party is significantly less extravagant this time, and Johnny seems infinitely more at ease because of it. It helps that no one gets asked to take photos, and the camera crew pointedly leaves with Taeil-hyung and Donghyuck, deciding to mostly film when they’re all at the Allstate Arena.

Johnny’s mom adores Taeyong, but he’s too torn up about his Jaehyun situation to fully appreciate it and too worried about the fact that the flight to Chicago seems to have made things a little worse on the leg front, and as always, they’ll have to dance “Cherry Bomb” as part of their set tomorrow night. Taeyong feels quieter than usual, even though he eats as much as the rest of them and smiles at Johnny’s mom as much as the rest of them. He can feel Jaehyun’s eyes on him occasionally, smell Johnny’s unrestrained worry, has to join in on teasing Mark for blushing whenever Johnny’s mom compliments him, so that Doyoung will stop asking him if he needs more food.

Even Yuta is throwing him odd looks by the end of dinner, when they get thrown out of the kitchen before they can help with the dishes. Johnny worms his way back in regardless, smiling down at his mother when she pinches his cheeks and wipes at her surprisingly wet eyes. “My son, John-ah,” she’s saying tearfully as Taeyong follows Johnny’s dad back up the stairs with the rest of them to fight over sleeping arrangements.

“There’s the futon from last time,” Johnny’s father explains, looking around at the entire group before making eye contact with Mark and Doyoung. “And an air mattress you can blow up.” He smiles brightly at all of them, then moves to retreat back downstairs to join his wife and son. “Let me know if you need anything—or ask Youngho—”

All of them chorus agreement in response, bowing, before converging towards the center of the room with narrowed eyes. This would normally be when Taeyong would suggest Rock Paper Scissors—they do use it for everything—but for once, he doesn’t want to fight about it.

“I call Doyoung,” he says, grabbing said bandmate by the arm, and tugging him off towards the futon. “And we get the futon because we’re older.”

Yuta makes a noise of protest, says, “I’m older too!” but Taeyong ignores him, still tugging Doyoung.

“Uh, okay,” says Doyoung, as Taeyong leads him towards the guest room.

Taeyong just walks faster, pretending not to notice the look Jaehyun shoots him before he’s sidling up to the still bristling, clearly conflicted Yuta—on the one hand, he’s older than Doyoung; on the other, why would he ever want to remind everyone of that fact—with a bright smile.

“Oppa,” Taeyong hears Jaehyun say. “Do you want to share the air mattress?”

Whatever Yuta says in response to that gets lost as Taeyong and Doyoung reach the guest room. That’s fine. Taeyong didn’t want to hear the rest of that sentence anyway. He sets his bag down on the floor beside the futon and starts the arduous process of unloading his carefully packed toiletries. A shower is absolutely needed because he feels for some reason like he’s been sweating non-stop and the food wasn’t even spicy; the hot water will be good for his muscles, but standing—

“Taeyong-hyung,” Doyoung says suddenly, because even he can only be silent for so long. “What’s wrong with you—”

“Nothing, Doyoung. Doyoung. Nothing.”

Doyoung eyes Taeyong like he’s a particularly difficult logic puzzle, both brows raised.

“Honestly, Doyoungie, I’m fine,” Taeyong tells him emphatically. “You should get some sleep. We have a long day tomorrow.” He grabs his toothbrush because he might as well brush his teeth when he’s in the bathroom, and bypasses Jaehyun and Yuta with their heads bent together over the air mattress without even looking at them.

“If you say so,” he hears Doyoung mutter from behind him, but he doesn’t look back.

* * *

Monsta X is also performing for Jingle Bash. Taeyong knew this, because he had read (and attempted to memorize) the lineup for the performance before they embarked on this promotion circuit, but he didn’t really _know_ this until Lee Minhyuk was standing in their dressing room, having come by to talk with Jaehyun. Minhyuk-hyung. He’s 93 line, a full two years older than Taeyong, and Taeyong should call him Minhyuk-hyung.

The thing about Lee Minhyuk—Monsta X’s Minhyuk, Minhyuk-hyung, Jaehyun’s friend Minhyuk-hyung, fellow _Inkigayo_ MC, Minhyuk-hyung—is he’s also an omega.

It’s—

Taeyong hasn’t moved from where he’d set up camp on the arm of one of their dressing room chairs in full hair and makeup, pretending he was playing games on his phone, and actually making eyes at Jaehyun across the room as he flirted with staff and their members alike. Johnny’s mother brought them all individualized bouquets—the flowers handpicked, and the note for each member personalized—and Taeyong was touched when he read the note. He’s had to put the thing far out of reach, however, because he started picking at the leaves, and while that was significantly preferable to biting his nails, it wouldn’t do to ruin such a heartfelt gift. Especially since Johnny’s parents are staying for the concert and will probably come backstage afterwards.

This leaves him with nothing to do with his hands when Minhyuk pokes his head in, announced by one of Monsta X’s managers coming to meet Hyeongdong-hyung at the door. All Taeyong has is his phone.

He should get up. He should do their greeting, or something, bow—be polite—but it’s all Taeyong can do not to stare too noticeably.

Minhyuk’s an omega.

Taeyong should have known this, _did_ know this, because Jaehyun’s been MCing for _Inkigayo_ since mid-October, and since Monsta X have been in the industry for longer than NCT have.

Jaehyun’s come to the front of the room eagerly, one of the managers dispatching from the wall to follow him, a cameraman already at the ready, already backing out of the open door. They’re out of sight before Taeyong can so much as blink, leaving to shoot videos and take photos and what-not, but Taeyong fancies he can still smell the two of them, mixing together sweetly in the air.

It’s—

If Taeyong thinks hard about it, he thinks Minhyuk was the dog to Jaehyun’s cat last _Inkigayo_ on the first and that’s. Taeyong’s the dog to Jaehyun’s cat; _they_ fight like cats and dogs, that’s a thing, right, a phrase, an idiom, something Mark said in passing once when the two of them were particularly at each other’s throats one evening, Doyoung lounging at their kitchen counter looking like he was a spectator at a tennis match. Taeyong doesn’t want to think about Lee Minhyuk—Monsta X’s Minhyuk, Jaehyun’s friend Minhyuk-hyung, the _Inkigayo_ MC Minhyuk-hyung, _omega_ Minhyuk-hyung—being the dog to Jaehyun’s cat.

It’s—

“Taeyong-ah,” Johnny says, plopping down in the chair whose arm Taeyong is still balanced on, practically frothing at the mouth over nothing. “What’s up with you?”

“Nothing,” Taeyong says quickly, almost juggling his phone in his haste to return to staring at—he pauses, embarrassed— _Inkigayo_ MC videos? Taeyong has no memory of searching for such a thing, but there they are, Minhyuk-hyung, Naeun-ssi, and Jaehyun dressed up as a dog, a rabbit, and a cat respectively, prancing around on Taeyong’s phone screen.

Johnny must follow Taeyong’s line of sight, because he makes a dubious noise. “Uh-huh. And you’re trying to commit murder with your eyes because… ?”

“Are you excited to be back home in Chicago, Johnny-hyung?” Taeyong asks instead of answering, locking his phone with a few frantic taps of the button on the side.

Johnny stares at him for a little while longer, then nods. “Yeah,” he says. “Although technically we’re in Rosemont.”

Taeyong would have followed up on that level of excitement, if Jaehyun hadn’t chosen that exact moment to return from his foray into the outside world. He’s got his own phone out now, tongue poking cutely from between his lips as he texts, and for two horrifying seconds Taeyong really does want to go commit murder with his eyes.

“Taeyong-ah.” Johnny’s got an odd, half-chiding look on his face, and Taeyong turns from ogling Jaehyun so quickly he almost gets dizzy. That’s not good. They’ve got to go on a radio show in a few minutes, then actually perform. All the stress and tension isn’t helping with his leg, either.

“Yes, Hyung?” Taeyong sets his phone down on one thigh and rubs purposefully at the other one, like that’ll somehow help. It works. Johnny’s eyes light upon Taeyong’s knee instead.

“You shouldn’t go on stage like that—”

“I’m fine, Hyung,” Taeyong says loudly and not at all purposefully catching Jaehyun’s attention. Their middle maknae’s brow furrows, phone shifting down an inch, and Taeyong stands so quickly his own falls onto the floor. “Bathroom,” he says, when more than just Johnny looks at him. “Which way?” He catches Hyeongdong-hyung’s eye over by the door, frantic. Their manager points. Taeyong bends to retrieve his phone, passing by Jaehyun without even a glance.

“Why is Taeyong-hyung so high tension?” he hears Donghyuck say, as he goes. He doesn’t stick around to see who answers.

* * *

After the show, Taeyong feels guilty and uncomfortable and has to have his phone confiscated, because someone took a video of him being helped out of the arena after their performance, and the fans are incensed. Granted, they caught him dragging his foot on his way out of the country before Thanksgiving and leaving the SAP Center in San Jose, but this is far more conclusive; Taeyong surrounded by at least three staff and one of them is actually holding his arm—it’s irrefutable. There are hashtags. Taeyong clicks on one of them, scrolls through the outpouring of support, reads the first message with `@SMTOWNGLOBAL` tagged in the tweet, and feels anxiety nestle into the pit of his stomach.

He knows that the likelihood of one of the staff running that account seeing that particular tweet is slim, but still can’t help but feel to blame. After all, he was the one who pushed to perform, and to finish out their North American promotions. After all, he was the one who let the fans see him like that. They run into fans on their way out of the venue and so there will soon be video of Taeyong looking no worse for wear, but the damage has still been done.

Taeyong swallows.

It’s a short drive back to their hotel, Johnny forgoing another night home with his parents to stay with the rest of them.

“If I go, there won’t be an even number of us,” he says, in explanation, while his mother fusses over him and steals another hug. “This might be the last time we don’t have to leave someone all alone with Manager-hyung—”

There’s a chorus of faked discontent from their surrounding entourage, but the point stands. Johnny is staying, and so his parents are going back to Northbrook alone.

They’re okay with that. Johnny’s mom has hugs for all of them, and there are only a few tears. “Take care, Merry Christmas, be healthy, have a good flight, I love you,” she says, trying to cram everything into one sentence, because it will be months before she’ll see him again. (Taeyong is too tired to have déjà vu, thank fuck.)

Johnny just smiles and lets her kiss his cheek before they get in the van.

“I thought you said you don’t do that?” Taeyong hears Jaehyun say in an undertone, as they arrange themselves into the rows of seats.

Johnny shoves him, laughing.

Taeyong ends up crammed between Donghyuck, Taeil-hyung, and Doyoung in the last row, put in the middle next to Taeil-hyung before he can think about it. Doyoung yawns loudly and leans forward to talk to Mark and Johnny in the row in front of them, but Taeil-hyung jabs an elbow into Taeyong’s side as he buckles his seatbelt. “Sorry,” he says.

Taeyong just smiles, not bothered. He buckles his own seatbelt and crosses his ankles, eyes automatically doing a full-car count, even though he isn’t actually the father of twenty (or in this case, seven) fully grown men. Their managers took up the front two rows without comment—unusual, since the passenger seat is always prime real estate whenever they’re put in only one car—but clearly the entire band would much rather sit almost on top of each other so they can talk about the concert, giddy from meeting Camila Cabello and Normani. Yuta somehow got the front row and immediately disappeared into his phone, but Jaehyun ended up wedged between Mark and Johnny, who are considerably more animated. Jaehyun appears to be throwing a fit about not having the window to lean up against, but despite the fuss, Taeyong can practically taste the little spikes of his joy whenever Mark yawns, and tips almost onto his shoulder, and then forces himself back awake to continue to debate who’s listened to “Señorita” more times.

“No, but Hyung,” Mark says, grasping his phone like he’s about to brandish his playcount. “Hyung.”

Johnny’s clearly only baiting Mark at this point, but Jaehyun keeps throwing in pointed little barbs about Camila’s album that are just incorrect enough to drive Mark to whining.

“Well what about that tissue song?” he says.

“‘Consequences,’ Jaehyun-hyung, you speak English, please,” says Mark. He looks about two seconds from giving up and going to sleep all over Jaehyun’s shoulder, and Taeyong’s stomach tries to be upset about _that_ as well.

“It’s Taeyong-hyung, clearly; he danced to it,” Doyoung says, with a look at Taeyong, as if welcoming him to join the conversation.

Taeyong just looks down at his phone instead, scrolling through Twitter mindlessly.

Mark seems to give up on the argument easily enough, but very quickly he moves on to who’s rooming with who at the hotel. They came straight from Johnny’s house to the venue, so there was no time to pick rooms, no time to so much as throw rock, paper, or scissors. It’d be magic how their luggage got there before them, if they hadn’t been doing this for nearly four years.

Things are getting surprisingly heated, mostly in jest, as Donghyuck leads an impassioned debate over whether it’s unfair for him to room with Taeil-hyung again. Yuta perks up at the prospect of getting to ruin someone verbally, and the entire van descends rapidly into chaos. Right about now would be when Taeyong ought to try to at least wrangle them away from getting a noise complaint while in a van with tinted windows, but he can’t bring himself to do so.

Doyoung grabs the arm that Taeyong is still clutching his phone with, as Yuta starts to loudly refute all of Donghyuck’s arguments with loud protestations that he “cannot speak Korean,” in all the languages they’ve ever dabbled in. (Given the scale of their world tour, it’s a lot.) “What are you looking at that for?” Doyoung says, dragging Taeyong’s phone close so that he can see. “Hyung. Give me that.”

Taeyong lets Doyoung take the phone and Twitter away from him without comment, and it seems that’s enough to catch Johnny’s attention. “I’ll room with Taeyongie,” he says, interrupting the discussions. “The rest of you fight amongst yourselves.”

Donghyuck opens his mouth.

“Let’s play Rock Paper Scissors!” Mark says, somewhat desperately, as Jaehyun cackles and seems to be having the time of his life. Doyoung and Taeil-hyung both throw rock, Mark and Jaehyun match with paper, but Donghyuck and Yuta both throw scissors, which stuns them both into silence for all of three seconds, before the car erupts into even more yelling.

“Best two out of three!” someone says. It’s probably Donghyuck, but there’s so much ruckus that Taeyong’s having trouble concentrating, let alone staying awake. It seems counterintuitive, but there’s something incredibly calming about how loud they all get when they’re together. Something comforting and special that he’d hate to lose, were he a solo artist.

“That’s not how that works!” someone else says—Doyoung, Taeyong thinks.

“Best three out of five!” Donghyuck again.

“That’s still not how that works!” Mark this time, half in English.

“Taeilie-hyung—” Definitely Donghyuck. “I thought we had an understanding!”

“Youth,” Yongjae-hyung mutters all the way in the passenger’s seat, yet somehow Taeyong hears him.

He smiles, feeling a little better now despite the ache in his legs, and shifts in his seat, eyes raking across the back of everyone’s heads. Unfortunately Jaehyun’s looking back at him, turned around with his chin on the backrest so that he can watch Donghyuck lose his mind next to Taeil-hyung, and the tiny slip of tongue Taeyong catches when they make eye contact brings all the butterflies back.

But he supposes at least his insides are squirming around now because of the whole having-feelings-for-Jaehyunnie thing, instead of Twitter trends. That’s something.

* * *

“Taeyong-ah,” Johnny says, as they’re getting ready for bed in the hotel later. They’d traded off turns in the shower, hot water and soap a necessity after a full set on stage, even in December. Taeyong’s claimed the bed closer to the bathroom, tucked his feet under the bedsheet, and forgone more than towel drying his hair. Johnny’s over by his bag, fumbling around for charging cables.

Taeyong doesn’t look up from where he’s once again on his phone, although this time he’s just trading barbs with his sister; time zones. “Yeah?”

A pillow hits him in the head, not thrown all that hard.

Taeyong looks up, blinking.

“Yah,” says Johnny, finished with his charging cables and climbing into his own bed. He slides up it until his back hits the headboard, but unlike Taeyong, makes no move to get under the covers. “‘Yeah?’ What am I, your age?”

Taeyong blinks again, amused because they basically are, and because Johnny (and Mark) throwing age-based fits will never not be amusing. “Sorry, Youngho-hyung,” he says prettily.

Johnny looks like he’d quite like to throw another pillow at him, but refrains, because if he does he’ll have nothing left. “But really. Taeyong-ah.”

Taeyong tilts his head and sets his phone down beside himself as a sign that he’s listening.

“What’s bothering you?”

Taeyong has to fight not to sigh. Johnny doesn’t deserve that. He’s been nothing but concerned and helpful, as he was helping Taeyong finesse the English for their on-stage speech, or translating everything the interviewer and Taeyong said for their B96 interview. “My leg,” he lies. Half lies.

Johnny keeps staring at him.

Taeyong tries to stare back.

Johnny folds his legs into lotus position, still holding eye contact.

Taeyong squirms. “I—” he says. “Youngho-hyung—” He should stop calling Johnny that—never calls Johnny that seriously when they’re not at home with his mom in Chicago—but can’t seem to stop himself.

“I’m guessing it has to do with you wanting to fight Minhyuk-hyung earlier,” Johnny says with the insightfulness he’s known for.

For a second Taeyong wants to deny it. “No,” he says.

Johnny doesn’t give him crap.

“Yes,” Taeyong says. “I—” He wraps both arms around his legs and hugs, dropping his chin painfully onto both knees and exhaling. “He’s an omega.”

Johnny lets that sit in the room for a moment. “Okay,” he says finally. “I’m guessing since you’ve never been anything but supportive of Donghyuckie this is—”

“Fuck, Youngho—Johnny-hyung, no,” Taeyong says, sitting up quickly and turning to face Johnny full on, heart pounding. “No—I—” He doesn’t want to rehash the Ten stuff, but he can feel it in the room with them almost like smoke, making his eyes sting and his throat hurt. “ _No_ ,” he says again. He wraps his arms around himself once more and rubs almost angrily at the words under his elbows.

Johnny pauses, and then his bed shifts as he gets up and comes to join Taeyong. Taeyong moves over to let Johnny sit beside him, still wrapped around himself like a hug.

“I’m sorry,” Taeyong says, almost pinching at the skin that says _UNDER_. “Tell Ten I’m sorry. I’ll tell Ten I’m sorry.”

Johnny doesn’t touch him, because of course he doesn’t. He’s too smart for that, has known Taeyong for far too long. Sometimes Taeyong forgets Johnny’s a beta, because he’s so good with people. But then an argument will go completely over his head because he’s missed some crucial signal, or people flirting with him will be something he has to actively look for, because he’s not really going to smell interest. It’s one of Taeyong’s favorite things about Johnny, that duality, because he works so hard to listen to everyone else almost as if to make up for his biological shortcomings, yet still manages to be more aware than even their most sensitive members.

Doyoung would be mothering Taeyong, might even try to fight him. Taeil-hyung would probably excuse himself to go find Johnny. Mark would laugh nervously, offer insightful, meaningful words. None of it would be wrong, but none of it would be what Taeyong needs, and Taeyong is thankful that Johnny chose him for a roommate. But maybe he did that on purpose.

“Taeyong,” Johnny starts to say.

“I told Jaehyunnie I love him,” Taeyong says quickly, fingers pressing into _STAND_ , now, and staring pointedly straight ahead at the ugly art on their hotel room wall. He’s seen so many hotel paintings at this point that they all start to blur together, and he almost wishes he’d been keeping track, had been chronicling them in photographs so they could see if any of them actually had repeated. Maybe he’ll suggest that to Johnny later, or Jaehyun, since both of them take the most photos.

“Okay.” Johnny’s still not touching him, but his presence is warm and comforting nonetheless.

Taeyong sits up a little better and stops abusing the skin of his arms. “You don’t understand,” he tells Johnny miserably. “I don’t love him like I love the rest of you.”

There’s a beat.

Taeyong slides his gaze sideways to look at Johnny, and finds him looking back, something unrecognizable hovering behind his eyes, a weird twist to his not-quite downturned mouth. “I,” he says again, the words forming almost involuntarily in the back of his throat. “Am _in love_ with Jaehyunnie—”

Johnny’s scent spikes, that odd, inscrutable discomfort showing in his face again. Taeyong stares at him with his heart in his throat.

“I,” he says again. “I—Youngho-hyung—is that…” He doesn’t know how to say it, doesn’t know if he can say it. “Is that not okay?” His voice sounds funny even to his own ears, young and painful and heartbreaking, but Taeyong doesn’t know what he’d do if Johnny said yes, doesn’t know how he’d go on.

Johnny looks at him with that blank, blank look, before his scent spikes again—but this time it’s panic, pure and unrestrained. “Oh, gosh, Taeyong—” He grabs Taeyong in a hug that’s much stronger than usual, hauls him in close so that Taeyong’s teeth clack together and he gets lost in Johnny’s t-shirt. “ _No_!” Johnny releases Taeyong almost as quickly as he’d grabbed him, holds him by both arms and whirls him around so that they’re nose to nose. “No, _of course_ it’s okay, I—” His throat catches, but he recovers so quickly Taeyong thinks he has to have imagined it. “I’m _happy_ for you. Jaehyun—” Johnny stops, another sudden about face.

Taeyong blinks at him, almost dangling where he’s still held in Johnny’s hands. “Uh,” he says. “Yay?” He raises one hand into a fist.

Johnny’s hands are still biting into Taeyong’s biceps. “That’s great, Taeyong-ah,” he says, which is a little confusing, honestly. “Really. I’m so happy for you.”

Taeyong stares. “Uh,” he says. He has the horrible urge to laugh nervously, and it’s not just because Johnny’s so close that he can see the flecks in his eyes. “Thank you?”

Johnny seems to come back into himself, releasing Taeyong and backing up on the bed a little. “I mean I’m not—not happy for you. I.” He looks so adorably flustered that Taeyong has to take pity on him.

He smiles. “Johnny-hyung,” he begin to say, in hopefully understandable English. “It’s okay. I get it.” And like they’re SM Rookies, puts his hand into a thumbs up.

Johnny looks back at him, not moving for two seconds—what is… what is _up_ with that?—before he’s grinning as well. “I’m glad,” he says in fake-bad Korean. “Thank you.”

Taeyong feels warm, then fuzzy, then nostalgic. Then he thinks about Jaehyun, about being trainees, and swallows. “Anyway,” he says, scooting around on the bed so that they’re sitting shoulder to shoulder, hip and thigh to hip and thigh. “You can understand why I’ve been… weird.”

Johnny definitely tilts his head down to try to look Taeyong in the eye, but Taeyong refuses to stare back. “Because you’re in love with Jaehyunnie.”

“Shhh, don’t—say it like _that_ ,” Taeyong says, wincing and flushing despite himself.

Johnny very kindly says nothing but Taeyong picks up on the judgment regardless.

“I mean obviously Jaehyunnie… I mean he’s—”

“Not in love with you.” Johnny isn’t asking a question, and his tone has gone funny again.

Taeyong shoots him a look before he responds. “Jaehyunnie is an alpha.”

Johnny’s mouth opens and closes. “And?”

Taeyong shoves a hand through his short hair. “And so am I?”

Johnny’s brow comes together. “Taeyong,” he says. “I thought you said you were over this—”

Taeyong feels guilt spike in his belly again and he snarls, fighting it back. “Forgive me if I’m worried because I’m an alpha and Jaehyun’s an alpha and never shown any interest in anything but omega women, Hyung,” he snaps.

Johnny’s mouth rounds into an awkward circle. “Oh, well,” he says. “I mean, most of us had girlfriends in high school?”

Taeyong raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t,” he says, which may have been in part because he was the only one in the class who wasn’t going through puberty as scheduled, and in part due to the fact that he was a bit of a bullying asshole. “Mark didn’t. Ten didn’t.”

Johnny’s mouth goes briefly sharp before he smiles again, radiant and entirely faked. “Yeah, okay.”

Taeyong fights the urge to hit him. “Barring the fact that Jaehyunnie’s never shown interest—”

“He’s too busy; we’re all too busy, and you call him sexy _all the time_ , Taeyongie, how is he supposed to know it’s serious—”

Taeyong ignores Johnny’s interruption with a hot flush staining both cheeks. “How would it even work, if we—” He has to break off, the words, the thought, making everything in him screech to a halt. “You know.”

Johnny has the look of a particularly patient schoolteacher, and this time Taeyong does reach for a pillow so he can hit him. “Yah,” he says, giving him a good, solid thwack. “Yah—” It’s the pillow Johnny threw at him earlier, so when he’s done he can just take it back with him; Taeyong is doing Johnny a service, really. “Yah—”

“I’m just saying, you really should think before you speak, Taeyong-ah.”

Taeyong glowers and blushes some more.

Johnny takes the pillow from him, leaving him with nothing to hold onto like a lifeline except the skin of his own arms again.

“And—” Johnny’s got a pained, self-deprecating twist to his lips now. “Maybe… talk to Ten—” He stops before that sentence can really finish but Taeyong latches onto it anyway.

“Yes, Ten,” he says, since he hasn’t texted Ten since Jaehyun landed back in the US and also, Ten is _dating_. Although actually. “But Lucas is an omega—”

“Ten hit on you,” Johnny says valiantly, grip on the pillow making his knuckles white. “So—”

Taeyong blinks. He hadn’t really followed that thought out. “Huh,” he says. “So… Ten.” He tilts his head, waves one hand in the air, lets his gaze drop down to where Johnny’s got the pillow in his lap, then down to his own. “And… With alphas…” He waves his hand some more, and Johnny nods quickly. Taeyong chews on his lower lip for a moment. “Have _you_ and Ten—”

“Okay!” Johnny says loudly, standing up with the pillow tight in his grip. “I think we should go to bed now. We have a long flight tomorrow.”

“You have,” Taeyong concludes, for some reason amused. “That’s fine. I mean I would have too, if I wasn’t—” He waves his hands.

“A dick?” Johnny says.

Taeyong snorts, feeling something in him finally start to relax. “Yeah,” he says. “And… inlovewithJaehyunnie.” The words come out in one long ramble, but somehow, he manages to keep his head up, even as his cheeks go hot again. He meets Johnny’s eyes. “And you’re not”—he snickers—“desperately in love with Ten and pining because he’s got Lucas?”

Johnny glowers at him. “No,” he says, sort of sharply, like Taeyong’s got him in the soft underbelly anyway, but clearly not lying; he’s too bemused for that. “We should go to bed. We have a long flight tomorrow.”

He turns and gets in his bed, puts the pillow down next to its partner, and reaches for the lamp between their beds.

Taeyong twists around on his own bed and shuffles his way under the covers again, still grinning. “We do,” he concedes slowly.

“Awesome,” Johnny says, turning off the light and plunging them into darkness. “Uh—thank you for telling me about Jaehyunnie, Taeyong-ah.”

Taeyong’s stomach does another backflip and really that’s going to get old _very fast_ , since he and Jaehyun are in a band together. He kicks his feet around on the bed until he’s comfortable and then tugs the sheets and blankets up to his chin with a sigh that turns into a yawn. It’s very dark, so it takes a while for Taeyong’s eyes to adjust, for the shapes to start to look less like fuzz and more like discernible objects. He can tell that Johnny isn’t asleep, however, because he doesn’t need eyes for that.

Johnny smells… off.

Taeyong fights another yawn, warm blankets and a soft pillow and quiet, calming stillness making their nonstop schedules catch up with him. “Youngho-hyung?” he mumbles.

Johnny hums a little in response, but otherwise doesn’t move.

“Are you okay?”

“No,” Johnny says immediately, confusing in the dark, sleepy, quiet. “I mean yes. I mean no. I mean—it’s in the box.”

Taeyong yawns, shuts his eyes, and presses both hands over top both of them. “What?”

“Go to sleep, Taeyong-ah,” Johnny says.

Taeyong does.

* * *

He doesn’t get to see Ten until Wednesday, when neither NCT 127 nor WayV have any public-facing schedules. Technically they’re all still busy: NCT 127 preparing for their Japanese tour and also the release of their second full-length album, and WayV in and out of the country on their fansign tour. The end of the year programs are rearing their ugly heads too, which leaves Taeyong twitchy on top of lovesick. But his leg is feeling better, so that’s something.

It’s luck that has him catching WayV’s dorm empty of Lucas. Taeyong doesn’t know if he’d have been able to handle the conversation if Lucas had been there, all large and cute and smelling nice and like Ten, as they probably cuddled on the couch, or something. It’s hard enough to remain calm when Kun lets him into the apartment, where Hendery and YangYang are on the couch watching what looks like a rerun of some variety program, open Korean language books on the table between them. Ten’s with them but he’s clearly not studying, instead interjecting oh-so helpfully in English, and doodling in a notebook. Kun retreats back towards the kitchen with an adorably earnest bow, calling out to tell Ten that Taeyong’s here to see him.

Ten looks up, smiles, and then goes back to drawing.

Hendery and YangYang immediately get to their feet, bowing and chorusing out greetings in Korean.

Taeyong bows back and greets them in turn, feeling uncomfortable and awkward, yet doing his best not to be too obvious about it. These are also his kids too, technically, even if the language barrier and their lack of Korean promotions has mostly kept him from interacting with them.

“Taeyong, hi,” Ten says, shooting Taeyong another quick glance before continuing his drawing. “How was Chicago?”

“Cold,” Taeyong says, smiling briefly at Hendery and YangYang and coming to stand more over Ten’s shoulder. “Uh. Can we talk?”

Ten finishes a line on what looks like a wing, and then caps his pen. “Sure, sit down,” he says, around a yawn.

Taeyong doesn’t sit down. “Uh,” he says. “Can we talk in private?”

Ten raises a brow, then looks towards YangYang and Hendery, who have gone back to their program, but also appear to be engaging in a very intense staring contest over the Korean language books. He can hear the sounds of Kun making tea, and it’s soothing. “Sure,” Ten says again. “Sit down, though.”

Taeyong heaves a sigh but goes to sit. “It’s about alpha cocks,” he starts to say, and immediately Ten’s eyes widen.

“Let’s go to my room!” he says quickly, shutting his sketchbook with a loud sound, grabbing for Taeyong’s hand and already starting to haul. He snaps something out in Mandarin as they go, halting YangYang in his tracks, looking guilty.

There’s more Mandarin, YangYang’s large eyes looking even larger, and Taeyong takes advantage of the break to pry at Ten’s grip on his arm, which seems to be getting tighter and tighter.

“No,” Taeyong finally understands. “Stay—” Years living with Sicheng really have paid off, it seems.

“Aw, but, Hyung,” YangYang whines out in Korean, but Hendery takes pity on them and moves to hold him back.

“We have to be quiet,” Ten tells Taeyong as they start walking again, back to speaking Korean. “Sicheng’s sleeping.”

Taeyong feels suddenly guilty. “We don’t have to—”

Ten shoots him a sharp look, making Taeyong falter, and they reach the door to his room, which he pulls open. It’s a similar size to Taeyong’s, very blue, and neater than expected. There’s a bed that must be Hendery’s and a bed that’s clearly Ten’s, and Taeyong did briefly watch Ten’s Instagram live the other day and has _been here before_ , so he shouldn’t be cataloguing everything like it’s brand new. Unfortunately his brain has basically been running in frantic circles like Ruby chasing her tail since they landed in Seoul on Sunday. He’s only here because it was WayV’s one free day, and only came because Johnny made him, and… well. Ten would be the friend Taeyong could ask, even though it’s uncomfortable. He’s certainly not going to Taeil-hyung about this. Or Doyoung. Taeyong would rather die.

“So,” says Ten, sitting down his bed and prompting Taeyong to do the same. He shifts his laptop to the side so that it rests half on his pillow, and stares. “Alpha cocks?” The words come out in half a stutter, like Ten can’t quite believe he’s saying them.

Taeyong understands. “Yes, I—”

“Wait.” Ten reaches under himself to straighten the blankets, comes up with what appears to be one of Lucas’ hoodies, based on scent and size alone, and instead of tossing it across the room towards what is clearly the laundry basket, balls it up and puts it behind his head to use as a buffer against the wall. “Is this about you being in love with Jaehyunnie?”

Taeyong had been staring between Ten’s face and the hoodie trying not to sneeze because of the odd mix of pheromones, which very clearly speak of long term relationships and committed partnerships, but are still just a hint attractive despite that because Lucas is an omega. He stops, wishing he had a hoodie to disappear into. Not Jaehyun’s, obviously, because, what? But someone else’s. His own.

Ten’s eyes light up. “It is,” he says happily. “Did you tell him? Did you kiss him? Oh, Taeyong, I’m so happy—”

“I haven’t told him,” Taeyong says quickly, trying to stop the congratulations before they can get too painful. “I—well.” He drops his gaze to his lap, hauls his legs up so that he can hold them around the knees, and stops talking abruptly.

Ten’s gaze feels like a spotlight. “Taeyong…” he says.

“So, Johnny-hyung said I should talk to you about… alpha cocks,” Taeyong says quickly.

There is a very loud silence.

“Did he?” Ten’s tone has gone funny, and Taeyong glances at him.

“Don’t be mad at Johnny-hyung.”

Ten has grabbed his pillow and his holding it protectively in his arms; it smells like Lucas too, in fact, the whole bed smells a little like Lucas, which really isn’t helping Taeyong’s nerves _at all_. What if Lucas comes back from the gym to find Taeyong in a room with his boyfriend, trying to pick his brains about alpha dicks? What would he think? What would he do? Taeyong swallows.

“Taeyong-hyung.” The “hyung” is what catches Taeyong’s attention, since Ten was never good at jondaenmal even before they dropped it and has only gotten worse as he’s joined WayV.

“Jaehyun’s an alpha,” Taeyong says quickly. “And I’m an alpha.”

Ten’s scent spikes with pure alarm, before he seems to tamp down on it. “Taeyong—”

“And I—well, you’ve been with alphas… Johnny said… I mean… you… you tried to kiss me—” Taeyong wishes he didn’t know where he was going with this, and that Ten would react in some way that wasn’t just clouding his senses and invading his nose with discomfort.

“Taeyong—”

“So, uh, I’m here for advice,” Taeyong finishes. He tries out his most earnest smile. “About alpha dicks.”

Ten holds very still, barely breathing, and in one quick move, has replaced the sweatshirt with his pillow. The sweatshirt ends up in his lap and it’s soft and looks expensive and it really smells lovely, but Taeyong doesn’t want it to, and also, it’s off, somehow, not… sharp enough—

“You’re here because Johnny said I’d be able to give you advice about sleeping with alphas,” says Ten, cutting into Taeyong’s panic. “And stop that. Even I can smell you—”

“I’m sorry,” Taeyong says miserably. “It’s instinct—”

“Well _stop it_ ,” Ten says, through gritted teeth, and goes so far as to clutch Lucas’ sweatshirt tight to his chest. Then he goes apologetic, flushing, and offers a small smile. “Sorry, Taeyongie, I know you’re not doing it on purpose—”

“It’s not Lucas,” Taeyong interrupts desperately. “I mean it is, but it’s also—Hendery—Xiaojun—” He stops talking. YangYang’s practically brand new, only had his first rut just before WayV headed to China for their introductory variety show, but even that’s setting off Taeyong’s senses. It’s so different from home, where he usually just has Doyoung to contend with, and Donghyuck’s so done with all of them being ridiculous that he practically bathes in scent blockers and uses Johnny as a shield whenever things get too heated.

Clearly WayV aren’t used to doing such a thing.

“Oh, right.” Ten looks sorry now. “Well, I mean, Kun and Sicheng and I don’t really, uh, notice,” he says.

There’s a pause.

Taeyong feels even worse now, for having reminded Ten of things he’s always been touchy about. He remembers that from the “Baby Don’t Stop” days, from when they were in U. “Sorry,” he mutters.

Ten lets Lucas’ sweatshirt drape across him like a blanket. “No I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “It’s just like, really new, and I’m—” He stops speaking and seems to flounder, looking for the right Korean words. “Jealous, all the time, and not always for any reason.”

“No, I understand,” says Taeyong quickly, feeling like he ought to touch Ten, but not wanting to try when he’s so hidden under Lucas’ sweatshirt. “And I mean if Jaehyun and I ever—I’d probably the same.”

Ten’s gaze sharpens. “If,” he says. “If you ever—”

“Well I don’t want to assume,” Taeyong mutters. “I’m not exactly what he’s looking for—”

Ten rolls his eyes. “Taeyongie you have to know how he looks at you,” he says. “You have to have watched videos.”

Taeyong lifts his nose. “I have not,” he lies. “I don’t go looking for that stuff.”

“Uh-huh.” Ten’s got a sparkle in his eye. “Don’t be mad, Taeyong-hyung. There’s a reason our MV has fifty million views.”

“‘Boss’ has a hundred,” Taeyong mutters.

“‘Boss’ has you and Jaehyunnie!” Ten crows, pointing. “Exactly, good catch, Taeyong-hyung.”

Taeyong sighs and gives up on not touching Ten. He flops back against the wall next to him, the thud of his skull against it a welcome reprieve from their conversation, even if it’s painful.

“Ow, here—” Ten says in English, shifting so they’re sharing the pillow. It’s nice and comforting and would be calming, but now Taeyong can smell Hendery underneath Lucas, since this is his and Ten’s room. It should be everything Taeyong wants, but it isn’t, because what Taeyong wants is back home, freshly dyed dark ash-blue for _Neo Zone—_ for “Kick It”—in celebration of their Japanese arena tour.

“Ten,” he mumbles.

“Right, alpha cocks,” Ten says, taking too much joy in the subject change. “What specifically did you want to know?”

Taeyong could strangle him. “ _Ten_.”

“Okay, well, were you thinking for you or…” He trails off, clearly having continued that thought out and hating it, given the face he’s now making. “Hyung,” he says. “Why?”

Taeyong doesn’t give him the Johnny excuse again, just shrugs.

“Well… are you going to _tell_ Jaehyun—”

“No!” Taeyong says quickly, horrified. “I mean, eventually—don’t _you_ tell him—”

“I won’t!” Ten raises both hands.

“Maybe after the New Year,” Taeyong says. “Maybe. Maybe never—”

“Hyung you’ve already told him that you love him, though,” points out Ten. He’s slowly been uncurling the hood of Lucas’ sweatshirt until it’s covering his chin and mouth, and seems to be unconsciously breathing it in, which would be sweet, if Taeyong wasn’t suddenly painfully jealous. Jaehyun hasn’t given him his hat back, but he hasn’t worn it since the thirtieth, either, and Taeyong is trying not to think about it.

“Yes, well, he didn’t say anything,” Taeyong says.

Ten says something in English Taeyong doesn’t quite understand, but he finds himself repeating it back anyway like Johnny or Mark are going to jump out and translate.

Ten’s ears pink. “So if you’re not going to tell him, why do you need to know about alpha cocks—”

“Can you stop saying ‘alpha cocks’?”

“Why, it’s very useful—”

“I can’t believe YangYang even knew those words in Korean—”

“He’s nineteen, not nine—”

Taeyong’s phone dings, a photo message coming into the NCT 127 group chat. It’s a photo of Yuta on the couch in the upper dorm, Jaehyun draped over him pulling his hair into pigtails. The accompanying text reads, `Stylist-noona says he has to bleach even more, if he wants to go all the way white, kkkk.` Taeyong looks at it and swallows and wants to go home immediately, wants to see more of Jaehyun’s dyed blue hair. Wants to see Jaehyun’s perfect, glass-pale skin, his dimpled, stunning smile. 

“Taeyong.” Ten’s looking at Taeyong very seriously, sitting up on the bed now and frowning.

Taeyong sits up also, turning so they’re knee to knee each in lotus position. “Yes?”

“Why do you need to know about sleeping with alphas?”

Taeyong opens and closes his mouth a few times. Shouldn’t it be obvious? Is Ten doing this on _purpose_?

Ten narrows his eyes. “So you are going to tell him,” he determines.

Taeyong flushes. “No—”

“So you want to be prepared for when you tell him,” Ten keeps saying, ignoring him.

“I—”

“And I’m assuming you’re aware that preparation is key for these sorts of things, but even more so when knots are involved. I mean you have one,” Ten says.

Taeyong could just burst into flames. “Jaehyun—”

“Jaehyunnie has one too, yes,” agrees Ten, gleeful despite the fact that he’s started twisting Lucas’ sweatshirt with both hands like it’s some sort of comfort object. “But it’s not having a knot that you need help with.”

Taeyong closes his mouth. Somehow, he manages a nod.

“Right.” Ten lets go of the sweatshirt and twists to grab his laptop, a purposeful expression on his face. “There’s only one way to learn, Taeyong-hyung.”

Taeyong stares.

“Dildos,” Ten says, with great dignity, and opens his laptop.

Which is how Ten and Taeyong end up sitting side to side staring at Ten’s computer screen, scrolling mindlessly on a website called `Bad Dragon`, (which Taeyong doesn’t quite understand, but might just be because he’s getting the words mixed up and it has nothing to do with winged mythological beasts) while Taeyong tries not to notice that the tab was already open in Ten’s browser, and Ten valiantly doesn’t comment on the mix of pheromones Taeyong’s been giving off since they started. It is, in short, the worst experience of Taeyong’s career.

“We should open a window,” he manages.

“If you get out of this bed, I will throw you out the window,” Ten replies.

They keep scrolling. The variety of sex toys is… impressive. Taeyong would almost be in awe, if he didn’t keep thinking about the fact that whatever he purchases is going to go up his ass.

“Is this a Korean company—”

“American,” Ten says immediately, pausing to change the language settings at the top of his browser; the entire webpage reloads, this time with words Taeyong actually understands, and huh, it really is called `Bad Dragon` like the animal. “We could try a Korean site, if you want, but I figured this was more discreet—”

“No, this is fine,” Taeyong says faintly. “Uh—”

Ten stops, mouse hovering over a toy with a name that Taeyong is never in his life going to repeat and would like to bleach from his brain.

“Do you ever think about me and you, ever?” blurts Taeyong.

Ten falters, and accidentally clicks on the toy. It’s awful. The description is unfortunately also in Korean, and Taeyong wishes instead they’d kept the site in English so only Ten suffered while Taeyong got to continue making a game of figuring out what the word “inflatable” meant in Korean.

“Do I ever think about me and you?” repeats Ten, tone odd. His cheeks look flushed. “Hyung. What the fuck?”

Taeyong colors. “Not—I mean I know you’re with Lucas now and—”

“I love him,” Ten says seriously. He pauses, looks around, and then lowers his voice. “I want to spend the rest of my life with him, actually.”

“I know—”

“And we already talked about it after Johnny-hyung gave you hell,” Ten finishes. He finally hits the back button and resumes his scrolling. He looks at Taeyong out of the corner of his eyes, tosses his hair rather pointlessly out of his eyes, and then shoulders into Taeyong a few times. “I know you keep winning popularity contests but you’re not all that great, Taeyong-hyung. I’m not still hung up on you—”

“I _know_ that,” Taeyong mumbles, thinking of the three hours he spent in a room crying his eyes out, and the words on his arms almost itching in response.

Ten shoulders into him a few more times. “Besides,” he says. “You’ve obviously had eyes only for Jaehyunnie since SM Rookies.” His eyes sparkle. “Since you said he had a sexy body on our debut livestream.”

Taeyong flushes some more, embarrassed. He doesn’t say anything about how it was true in 2016, and it’s true now, in nearly 2020.

“I’m not mad at you, Taeyong-hyung,” says Ten, continuing in his browsing, and stopping on one of the tamer options, with an inflatable knot. Taeyong watches him hover over the item name, before clicking. “You were an idiot, but you were a well-intentioned idiot.” He quirks his mouth at Taeyong and almost winks. “I’m not mad it took me and Xuxi for you to figure yourself out either,” he says.

Taeyong feels something uncoil in his chest, even though he can tell that Ten’s put up a bit of a wall. “Oh,” he says. “Good,” he says. “About the dildo—”

“We’re buying it,” Ten says, clicking `add to cart`. “I’ll ship it to our dorm, since you’ll be in Japan soon.”

Taeyong frowns. “You’ll be in Bangkok for two days”

Ten waves a hand. “Limited time offer,” he says in English.

Taeyong knows better than to look a gift horse in the mouth. “Deal,” he says in Korean.

Ten gets a mischievous look in his eye. “Check in the bedside table,” he says. “I think I still have Manager-hyung’s card from when he bought us dinner last night.”

Taeyong rummages for the item in question, and Ten practically cackles as he takes it. “You’re a menace.”

Ten just grins.

Taeyong’s phone beeps again, three times in quick succession. It’s Doyoung this time, but the photos are from the “Coming Home” shoot they had last month, the four of them standing in a line in long, warm looking coats.

`Hyung, spoilers`, Jaehyun’s written afterwards. Then he sent the monkey covering its mouth emoji three times.

Taeyong stares at it with his heart thumping loudly in his chest. _Cute_ , he thinks helplessly. Jaehyun hasn’t done more than type two words—three characters—but Taeyong can practically hear them in his voice, thinks only of the music video they haven’t had the opportunity to see beyond the promo photos and the selcas sent over when they were filming, and it’s _cute_. Taeyong and Mark were in New York for SuperM promotions when NCT U were filming the MV. Taeyong hasn’t even really had time to hear the song all the way through. He presses his tongue against the back of his front teeth.

When he looks back up, Ten has put the laptop and the credit card away, and is staring back at him with an unreadable expression on his face. Taeyong pockets the phone and gets to his feet. “Right, well, I’ll go,” he says.

Ten stands also. “Hyung—”

“Thank you,” Taeyong continues, reaching for the door. It comes open a lot easier than he expected, probably because immediately on the other side is YangYang and a long suffering Hendery, who hauls the WayV maknae backwards in a move that can’t be comfortable, apologizing.

Kun’s sitting on the couch watching all of this with a mug of tea, looking exasperated. For once he doesn’t get up to bow to Taeyong.

YangYang and Hendery are going back in forth in rapidfire Mandarin, and when Taeyong looks to Ten for guidance, all he does is shrug.

“Ah, thank you, again,” Taeyong tells him anyway, and retreats in search of his shoes.

* * *

The situation comes to a head three days later, when most of NCT 127 has gathered on the lower floor for an impromptu, very late dinner—one that Doyoung has cooked. Jaehyun’s hair is a truer blue now, Mark’s still got gold clip-ins peeking out from under his bangs, and Yuta is as light as possible with only three bleachings. They’ve put purple on top of it to cover up some of the areas where they couldn’t get out all the color, but Taeyong knows Yuta’s goal is to be pure anime white eventually. “Coming Home” came out the day before and was just as catchy as Donghyuck had said it would be (“Mark-hyung, you know what a ‘bop’ is, right? Johnny-hyung? Right?”) as well as devastatingly homey. Taeyong watched it on their television the other night and maybe didn’t handle it very well; maybe watched their celebratory V LIVE and took one look at blue-haired, bundled-up-under-a-hat Jaehyun and _didn’t handle it well_ ; maybe locked himself in his bedroom and had to be lured back outside by false promises from Doyoung that it was just the bottom floor present and not everyone.

Taeyong has decided he’s going to be in charge of utensils so he doesn’t have to wait awkwardly in the living room with the rest of them, has gathered all of their chopsticks in one fist and is washing them purposefully at the sink.

“I washed those last night,” Doyoung protests as he watches Taeyong scrub. “ _Hyung_ ,” he drags the word out. “This is why nobody wants to room with you.”

Taeyong would normally at least laugh, but unfortunately, he’s still running mostly on stress at this point. It hasn’t helped that Ten keeps texting him tracking updates of their late night purchase, complete with an assortment of emoji. He keeps insisting it’s code, so if their phones ever got stolen, no one would know what they were talking about. Taeyong knows Ten hates fruit and will never willingly eat it, but he really doesn’t think the peach emoji deserves the things Ten’s done with it. Also their fans still use it to represent Jaehyun on SNS, and Taeyong would really not like to have the image forever tainted.

“Doyoung-hyung,” says Jaehyun, cutting into Taeyong’s thoughts. He’s the only one looking at Taeyong and Taeyong feels his gaze on his back like a spotlight, making his shoulders hunch and his hands shake. Nobody can see that, though, because of the rim of the sink, and a few bracing breaths later Taeyong manages somehow to get himself together. “Hygiene is important,” Jaehyun says. “Don’t be mean.”

Doyoung snorts and sits down on their couch, only to let out a startled breath when Taeil-hyung goes over sit mostly on top of him; Taeyong glances quickly over one shoulder to watch, makes awful eye contact with Jaehyun, and then turns back to the sink.

“Ow, Hyung, you’re heavy,” Doyoung says in protest, clearly trying to get away. “Get off, please.”

Taeil-hyung must stick out his tongue and then try to lick Doyoung, or something, because the next few moments are filled with the sounds of Doyoung trying valiantly to escape, and Taeil-hyung’s increasing levels of aegyo.

Taeyong turns his head all the way this time, in time to see Yuta stick his nose in the air distastefully. “Gross,” Yuta says.

Doyoung manages to get free, only for Taeil-hyung to make a grab for Yuta instead. “Yuta-yah,” he calls.

“No—” Yuta tries to say, and steps behind Jaehyun as a shield.

Jaehyun smirks, clearly amused, and steps unhelpfully to the side. “Oops, sorry, Oppa,” he says, as Taeil-hyung pulls Yuta down onto him, cackling. 

Taeyong fumbles a set of chopsticks into the sink, but thankfully the sound of running water covers for him. Doyoung looks over at him, but Doyoung caught Taeyong watching the new music video on the television, and also roomed with him for part of their stay in Chicago. Doyoung also witnessed Taeyong’s love confession, has been his friend for almost as long as Jaehyun.

Taeyong turns off the faucet and reaches for a dishtowel.

“Do you need help, Hyung?” Jaehyun says, voice sounding much closer, and now Taeyong’s dropping the towel, practically hurling the poor thing across the room in his momentary lapse of control.

It lands over by Mark, who bends to pick it up with a furrow in between his brows. “Uh, you dropped this, Taeyong-hyung?”

“Thanks, Mark,” Taeyong says, crossing to take the towel and, wincing only slightly, starting to use it to dry the pieces of wet metal still clutched in his hand. There’s like a seconds rule about that for food, and stuff. And their floors are very clean. Imo-nim keeps the floors very, very clean. They’re not going to die.

Jaehyun’s looking at Taeyong with a tiny smile. “Do you need a fresh one?” he asks, reaching for one, not even anywhere _close_ to Taeyong, and Taeyong backpedals so frantically that it’s a wonder that _he_ doesn’t drop to the floor.

“It’s fine, Jaehyun-ah, thank you!” he says loudly. His voice is very fucking high and it is unfortunate.

Jaehyun is staring at him with wide, startled eyes, but he doesn’t look hurt. In fact, if Taeyong didn’t know better, he’d say he actually looks a little amused, under the honest shock. “Okay.” He moves back towards Yuta and Taeil-hyung, arms raising in a stretch that drags his shirt away from his waistline to flash the tiniest bit of pale, creamy hip—

Taeyong drops the chopsticks all over their kitchen floor. It is loud, and sudden, and everyone stops what they’re doing to stare at him.

“Wow,” says Yuta, before Taeil-hyung very helpfully puts his hand over his mouth.

“Oops,” chitters Taeyong, bending with flaming cheeks to pick them all up. “Erm, I’ll just—” He stands with them awkwardly in both hands and then he breaks off. Nervous laughter starts bubbling up in his chest, his eyes keep darting around the room looking for an escape, and even Mark smells mildly concerned.

“Hyung—”

Taeyong misses whatever else Mark says, because Jaehyun has turned to face him full on, is looking at him like he might a radio script, new sheet music, the call sheet for _Inkigayo_. Taeyong misses whatever else Mark says because Jaehyun has started walking towards him, has set his mouth into a surprisingly firm line, has both hands at his side, clenching nervously. Taeyong misses whatever else Mark says because Jaehyun has reached him, has come gliding close enough that he can put both hands on both of Taeyong’s arms, the right one sliding all the way up until it’s resting just under Taeyong’s ear.

Taeyong misses whatever else Mark says when Jaehyun _kisses him_ , leans down and in with his eyes surprisingly nervous, and Taeyong drops the chopsticks all over again, but he doesn’t care, doesn’t notice, doesn’t have time for more than Jaehyunnie’s tongue, Jaehyunnie’s lips, Jaehyunie’s smile. “You—I—”

“Me, you,” Jaehyun parrots back at against Taeyong’s mouth, the hand at Taeyong’s ear sliding forward so that he’s almost holding Taeyong’s jaw, right thumb rubbing teasingly to the side of Taeyong’s mouth.

Taeyong drops his gaze to Jaehyun’s lips, back up to his glittering, sparkling eyes, and exhales. “What—”

“Taeyong-hyung.” Jaehyun’s talking so quietly that Taeyong has to lean closer to hear, steps right over the mess of chopsticks on the floor and almost goes up on socked tiptoes. “The internet told me you’d be a better kisser than this.”

Taeyong thinks he hears someone choke on their own spit—Yuta definitely, because he can hear him even through what must still be Taeil-hyung’s hand when he says, “He did _not_ just say that—”

Taeyong holds Jaehyun’s gaze. “Did it?” he says.

This time Doyoung is the one unable to keep from reacting, a punched sounding noise leaving his lungs. Taeyong doesn’t spare him more than a brief glance, all his attention focused on Jaehyun.

“Didn’t Manager-hyung tell you, Jaehyunnie?”

Jaehyun’s breath is coming faster.

“The internet lies,” Taeyong says, which… doesn’t really make sense for his next course of action, but Jaehyun seems affected regardless.

Doyoung is still sputtering and someone is definitely slapping him on the arm now; it can’t be Taeil-hyung, since he’s smothering Yuta, so it must be Johnny, but maybe it’s Mark?

Taeyong doesn’t know.

Taeyong doesn’t care.

Taeyong reaches his own hands up and sets them on Jaehyun’s shoulders, smooths both palms over the slip of skin he finds there, which is so pale against his own that he goes a little lightheaded; there’s a reason Taeyong’s been writing songs about white skin and red lips for nearly four years now, and it’s standing in front of him looking at him with bedroom eyes.

“Does it really lie, though?” Jaehyun says suddenly, a line appearing in between his eyebrows. “You’re not saying you’re a bad kisser, right, Taeyongie-hyung—” His sentence stutters to a stop when Taeyong tightens his hold on his shoulders, digs into the meat of his muscles with the pads of all his fingers.

“Jaehyun-ah,” Taeyong whispers. “Stop talking.” And then he goes up on his toes and kisses him, properly kisses him, shuts his eyes and uses tongue and _kisses_ him, until the room is spinning and his lungs are burning and Jaehyun is panting, expression hazy, as they stand halfway in the kitchen overtop the chopsticks, which are scattered about like an odd children’s game.

Taeyong’s feeling more than a little out of breath himself, but he’s mostly preoccupied trying not to lick his lips too obviously, trying not to open his mouth and just inhale, the haze of Jaehyun’s arousal making the kitchen feel about twice as small and the air in the apartment hot and heady. “Taeil-hyung,” he says. His voice feels like knives in his throat. “Yuta-yah. Mark-yah.” Taeyong can practically hear the three of them stand to attention. “Don’t come upstairs for at least an hour.”

Utter silence.

Taeyong keeps staring at Jaehyun, who keeps staring straight back. They’ve somehow removed their hands from each other, are simply standing almost nose to nose in the kitchen holding eye contact, but the air feels charged anyway.

Jaehyun licks his lips. “Only one hour?” he says.

Yuta makes another horrified noise from under Taeil-hyung, and Taeyong hears the sound of them two of them fighting their way off the couch.

“You’re right.” Taeyong spares their band a quick glance. “Taeil-hyung. Yuta-yah. Mark-yah.” He looks at all three of them this time, before focusing back on Jaehyun. “Don’t come upstairs for at least three hours.”

Taeyong fancies he can see Jaehyun’s pupils physically dilate. His nostrils flare.

“Shoes,” says Jaehyun.

“Shoes,” agrees Taeyong. Somehow, they get to the door, get into their shoes, and leave. Jaehyun’s got his hand in Taeyong’s, their fingers linked together. Shockingly, that’s the thing that trips Taeyong up the most, on their way to the elevator. That little thing. He had his tongue in Jaehyun’s mouth, dug his fingers into Jaehyun’s shoulders, and pulled him down so that he could better make out with him, but holding his hand? That’s what makes Taeyong’s heart go faster, makes his toes wiggle against his worn sneakers. “Jaehyun-ah,” he says quietly, as they wait for the elevator, still holding hands. “Are we—do you—”

“I love you, Taeyong-hyung,” Jaehyun says, in time for the doors to slide open with chime and a woman’s voice announcing their floor number with mechanical ease. “And I know you love me too because you told me last month—”

Taeyong pulls his hand free and whirls, pointing. “I knew you noticed,” he accuses, yelping when Jaehyun grabs him by the index finger and tugs him back before he can get into the elevator. It leaves without them, but Taeyong doesn’t spare it more than a glance. “Why didn’t you say anything in San Jose?”

Jaehyun slips his fingers up so that they’re holding hands again. He shrugs, for all intents and purposes seemingly composed, but the tips of his ears are flushing. The elevator doesn’t move, clearly confused, before someone else calling it sends it climbing floors. After a moment, Jaehyun hits the up button again.

“Jaehyun-ah?” Taeyong stares at Jaehyun’s flushing ears with narrowed eyes, trying to reconcile this shy side of his dongsaeng with the mischievous, pranking side of him that comes out when he’s tired, or around Doyoung, around Ten. It shouldn’t be sweet, shouldn’t be hot, shouldn’t make Taeyong’s stomach twist into butterflies again, but it does. It’s sweet and hot and cute and Taeyong wants to cuddle Jaehyun, and at the same time he wants to pin him to the elevator doors and _eat_ him, make him regret all the unnecessary stress he’s caused Taeyong, on top of his leg and everything. “When did you notice?”

“The moment you said it.” Jaehyun’s fingers twitch, and then he reaches out and hits the button again, like that’ll do anything; whoever else needed the elevator was three floors above them, and now they have to wait—

Because it’s Jaehyunnie and he’s probably magic, the other elevator springs open immediately.

Taeyong steps into it with his hand still in Jaehyun’s, fighting the urge to slam him against the wall and kiss him some more. He wants to yell at him. He wants to make out with him. It’s confusing and embarrassing and Taeyong really would like to have the decision made for him, would give anything not to have to keep talking. “Jaehyun—”

Jaehyun follows him into the elevator and finally faces him, ears bright red now and mouth bruised from where Taeyong was just kissing him. He says, “so do you want to just stand here arguing or can we make out—”

“Oh, thank God,” Taeyong blurts out. “Kiss me—” Jaehyun does, steps into his space so quickly Taeyong thinks he’d have done it anyway, even if he hadn’t said it and fuck if that’s not a little hot—perfect, composed, pretty Jaehyunnie, so undone that he’s ready to get messy. Jaehyun shoves Taeyong up against the mirrored wall and gets his hands all in Taeyong’s hair and pins him with his body and _kisses_ him.

For two seconds Taeyong is so overwhelmed that he lets him get away with it; when it was them in the dorm, Jaehyun was much more restrained, much more aware of their audience, much more timid. Nothing about him is timid now, from his hands, clutching hard at the back of Taeyong’s skull, to his hips, pushed forward so that Taeyong can feel every inch of him, the long hard line of his body keeping Taeyong practically immobile against the elevator walls. It’s good, it’s so good, and Taeyong lets his eyes fall shut and gives it to him back just as hard, runs fingers through the pretty, pretty blue of his hair and groans, breath leaving his lungs to go straight down Jaehyun’s throat, it feels like.

It’s good.

It’s so, so good.

But then one of Jaehyun’s hands slides down so that it’s resting at the nape of Taeyong’s neck, thumb playing with the fine baby hairs there, and it’s so reminiscent of when Taeyong was a kid and his father would him hold him there in reprimand. It reminds him of what he and his friends used to do when they were butting foreheads in preparation for some dumb feat of masculinity.

Before Taeyong can think about it he’s bit down on Jaehyun’s bottom lip, not hard enough to break the skin, but enough that Jaehyun gasps, lets him go, and Taeyong has to grab him by arms to keep him from retreating, heart hammering away against his ribcage. “Jaehyun-ah,” he says. His voice is raw and quickly going hoarse.

For two more seconds they just stare at each other, Taeyong looking at where Jaehyun’s worrying at his bottom lip with his own teeth now like some sort of involuntary response, Jaehyun looking back at Taeyong with his chest rising and falling and his eyes blown wide. They’re still pressed together from the waist down, still standing so close together they could very easily go back to breathing the same air, and Taeyong opens his mouth to say something incredibly stupid like, “I’m sorry,” only for Jaehyun to interrupt him with a groan, a tiny, definitely involuntary little noise in the back of his throat that Taeyong doesn’t think he even means to make, let alone is aware of.

“Fuck, fuck, Taeyong-hyung,” Jaehyun says, and leans back down to kiss him some more, harder and harsher and with considerably more teeth.

One of Jaehyun’s legs has worked its way in between both of Taeyong’s and it’s taking everything in Taeyong not to just grind up into it; somewhere in the middle of all the kissing and biting Taeyong’s ended up all the way hard and throbbing, the skin of his knot starting to go flushed and aching. It’s distracting and dizzying and Taeyong feels all the blood diverting from his brain towards his cock, leaving his mind racing and his head spinning. “Wait. Jaehyunnie. Not in the elevator—”

Jaehyun isn’t listening, has taken advantage of the fact that Taeyong clearly isn’t going to stop talking and is now laving attention to his neck and throat, not using teeth, thankfully, because Manager-hyung might just kill them both. It’s somehow even more distracting and dizzying, feels so good that Taeyong goes more than a little crazy, every time the kisses get just a shade sharper, just a shade closer to a claim bite.

“Jaehyunnie—”

The elevator doors finally slide open on their floor and Taeyong and Jaehyun really are idiots, because it’s not like they’re at SM where most of the floors can only be reached by staff and other members of the company. It’s late enough that no one is there but someone could be; someone could come to take out their trash and end up taking Taeyong and Jaehyun’s careers out right with it, could end up the anonymous source for the 2020 Dispatch couple.

“Jaehyunnie—”

Somehow Jaehyun’s got one hand inching up the back of Taeyong’s shirt and Taeyong is going to fight him, what the fuck. “ _Jaehyun-ah_ ,” he snarls, and finally Jaehyun stops moving. “Not in the elevator,” Taeyong rasps out. His voice sounds like he could sing “Limitless” naturally without any vocal modulation.

Jaehyun takes a quick, seemingly automatic step back, throat bobbing. He looks equally wrecked, heat on the tips of both ears and starting to stripe across both cheeks. He’s still breathing hard and his hair is disheveled beyond salvation because apparently Taeyong had trouble keeping his hands to himself as well. He’s in sweatpants and a t-shirt and indoor slippers, bare feet flexing nervously in plain view.

The elevator doors start to close.

Jaehyun reaches back to slam the `DOOR OPEN` button with one palm.

“Not my—neck,” Taeyong manages, and reaches up to touch where Jaehyun had been kissing him, tracing the line of his jugular with the jut of one nail, shivering against his own wishes. He wants Jaehyun to bite him. Wants to bite Jaehyun. Not claim him, not—mate him (he does; he’s a liar; he’s a _liar_ ; Taeyong _lies_ ) but he wants to _bite_ him, suck on the milk-white expanse of his neck until it’s bruising purple and their stylists are ready to hang them out to dry by their ears.

Taeyong wants to bite Jaehyun, but he can’t, because they have a show in three days. Jaehyun has _Inkigayo_ in less than twenty-four hours. There are so many schedules, comeback preparations, the end of year Gayos.

The elevator doors start to close again.

Jaehyun hits the button again.

Taeyong spares a glance at his own reflection, sees the state of his own hair, his own mouth, his own shirt, shoved up so that he can see the line of his own dick, still hard, still interested, staining the front of his sweats dark and making the roof of his mouth ache. This is what Taeyong was missing, two days ago in WayV’s dorm. This what Taeyong wanted, two days ago and surrounded by three attractive omegas. This is what Taeyong wanted in 2012, in 2013, in 2015. What he hid under fame because the reality of it was enough to break him, could still break him, and leave him adrift at sea.

“Taeyong-hyung.” Jaehyun sounds miserable. “Taeyong-hyung.”

Jaehyun wants Taeyong to bite him too. Taeyong can tell by smell alone.

“Bedroom,” he says finally.

The elevator isn’t very happy with them, but Jaehyun slams the button one last time, before stepping quickly out into the hall.

Taeyong follows. “Bedroom,” he says again. He can’t seem to take his eyes off of Jaehyun’s neck, and Jaehyun definitely notices.

He trips. “Bedroom.”

Taeyong agrees. “Bedroom.”

They end up outside the door, Jaehyun struggling to enter the passcode with Taeyong pressed up against his back, unable to keep from tonguing at the knobs of his spine. He really wants to use teeth, but he doesn’t, settles for just kissing, first because the skin is there, turning pink the longer Jaehyun takes to get the door open, and then because it makes him shudder and shake.

“Hyung,” Jaehyun keeps whining, fingers fumbling but thankfully not locking them out of the dorm somehow—Jaehyunnie is so thoughtful, so considerate, so forward-thinking to not actually press anything when Taeyong kisses the back of his neck. “Hyung.” He shakes like he’s going to say more, like he’s going to protest, and Taeyong sneaks in the barest hint of a nip in time for the door to chime open.

“You shouldn’t let me mark you where people can see; you have filming tomorrow,” Taeyong says, as Jaehyun pushes open the door.

Jaehyun groans, kicks his shoes halfway across the dorm in his haste to get them off, and turns, quickly enough that Taeyong stays pressed up to him front to front, blinking. “But I want you to,” Jaehyun moans out, breathing hard, and Taeyong has to kiss him again before he takes him up on that and Jaehyun’s Christmas stage for _Inkigayo_ suddenly has to feature turtlenecks and scarves; Jaehyun’s tour costumes for NEO CITY: JAPAN—The Origin have to feature turtlenecks and scarves.

“You,” he says in between kisses, as Jaehyun whines against this mouth and slams him up against the now shut door. “You—”

Jaehyun somehow manages to get Taeyong’s shoes off as well, despite the fact that he hasn’t separated from Taeyong’s lips for longer than it takes to suck in much needed oxygen. “Taeyong-hyung,” he says, voice pleading. “Taeyong-hyung.”

Evidently Taeyong is going to have to take charge or they’ll never make it past the door, which wouldn’t be awful—it’s very easy to grind against Jaehyun’s leg, when it’s the only thing keeping you propped up and standing—but would probably end with them kicked out of NCT 127, once Taeil-hyung, Yuta, and Mark braved coming back. Taeyong being in charge is a daunting task because Taeyong really has no idea what he’s doing; of the two of them, Jaehyun’s the only one who’s not a virgin, and while Taeyong has used the internet and fooled around once or twice under a skirt well enough to know the basics leading up to the main event, as it were, he really doesn’t think he should be the one in charge.

But clearly he’s going to have to be because Jaehyun is rapidly speeding for a collusion course with the rest of their band.

Taeyong puts both hands on Jaehyun’s shoulders and pushes him back again, earning an almost squeak of protest and a wet, bitten-up pout.

“Bedroom,” Taeyong says again. “We’re not doing this in the entryway.”

Jaehyun seems to find some shred of his control and his lips quirk. “But why not, Hyung?” he says. “We’ve got all of those windows.”

Taeyong glances automatically towards the living room and out at the sprawl of the city below them, lit up in the darkness. It’s lovely as always, and Taeyong once again is reminded of how enamored Jaehyun is by cityscapes. He narrows his eyes. “We’re not doing this on your couch either, Jaehyun-ah,” he says.

Jaehyun sucks in a quick breath but nods, biting his lip to keep from continuing. Taeyong can’t help but notice that, can’t help but start to do the math, can’t help but comment.

“Jaehyun,” he says. “Are you—do you—”

“My room’s this way,” Jaehyun says, gesturing, like Taeyong doesn’t know.

“Right,” Taeyong agrees. It would almost be funny, how quickly they can go from heated and easy to awkward and clumsy, but mostly it’s just par for the course of Taeyong’s life. Jaehyun’s bedroom is exactly how he remembers it, with the bed against the right wall and the desk further in. He’s got the curtains drawn and his keyboard covered and Taeyong rakes his eyes over the whole room, lighting up on all of Jaehyun’s mementoes like they tell a story. He stops on the still-tagged Mickey Mouse, steps forward and lifts both hands like he wants to pick it up, but Jaehyun grabs before he can.

“Taeyong-hyung,” he says, cheeks stained pink to match his ears. “Don’t be a tease.” And in what universe is Taeyong supposed to not kiss him in response to that, in what universe is Taeyong supposed to not shove him down onto his bed, settle down on top of him and lick into his mouth until they’re both gasping for breath again?

It’s better horizontal than it was in the elevator, though that’s probably just because Taeyong’s not living in complete fear of getting thrown out of SM Entertainment for breaching contract. He likes to think that his friendship with Yunho-sunbaenim would keep him from getting completely raked over the coals for sleeping with his bandmate, but it is technically in the fine print. Since it’s Jaehyun and not some random person off the street it’s not like Taeyong’s really at risk for someone revealing it—they’re together all the time because they’re in the same band, and unless people are scaling the building trying to get a scoop, Taeyong and Jaehyun are okay.

It still makes Taeyong’s stomach turn in unpleasant little circles, the articles from three months before swimming angrily around in his head.

“Hey.” Jaehyun pulls out of the kiss with a frown, flopping solidly against his pillow and giving Taeyong a long look. “Pay attention.”

Taeyong drops his own head onto the pillow and breathes in the clean scent of the room, unpolluted by anything but Jaehyun, refreshing and calming and making the blood in his veins practically hum. It’s easy for Taeyong to get locked away in his thoughts, easy for him to get distracted from bodily pleasure—too caught up in other things to be too hung up about how many times he’s put a hand on his dick—but it’s hard to get distracted when Jaehyun’s lying nestled up against him smelling like that, looking like that, eyes half-lidded, mouth red, neck pale and unblemished and begging for love bites.

Taeyong smirks. “If I leave bruises are you going to tell your mom we’re soulmates?” he can’t help but say, mostly to watch Jaehyun laugh, head thrown back against the pillows.

“You want me to text Mark?” he says, pulling out his phone and setting it up on the headboard in quick reach. “We pretty much share a brain so it’s okay if you got confused and you want him instead—”

Taeyong fights back the urge to growl, grapples for a hold on both of Jaehyun’s wrists and tugs him away from his phone. “No,” he tries to say. “Jaehyun—”

Jaehyun twists out of his grip easily, bucking a little on the bed and trying to wiggle free so emphatically that Taeyong has to push him into the wall and roll almost on top of him.

“What are you doing—”

“Nothing—” Jaehyun’s got a far away, flighty look on his face but he keeps twisting, keeps fighting, keeps… breathing harder.

Taeyong’s cock isn’t any less into the proceedings now that the kissing has devolved into something much closer to wrestling; in fact, it seems much more involved, much more on board. Taeyong snarls and snaps his teeth right in Jaehyun’s face and he freezes, chest rising so fast it’s almost worrying.

“Jaehyun—”

“I didn’t say anything when you told me you loved me because I wanted to see what you would do,” Jaehyun lies quickly, like Taeyong doesn’t know him. Like Taeyong didn’t immediately realize the real reason as they spoke, as they lay there, sharing the same air.

“Jaehyunnie—”

“I wanted to see you squirm,” Jaehyun continues, ignoring his attempts to interject. He’s holding very still underneath Taeyong, but his hands are twitching slightly, and he can’t seem to get his breathing under control. It’s a travesty, as a professional singer. “What are you going to do about it?” says Jaehyun.

Taeyong stares at him. “I love you,” he tests out, watching.

Jaehyun flinches so quickly Taeyong almost misses it, but the pink to his ears gives him away. “Me too,” he mumbles like he doesn’t want to say it but can’t help but do it anyway. It warms Taeyong’s heart.

“You dick,” he says, shifting so he’s better pressing Jaehyun down into the bed. “You owe me for all of the therapy I had to get from Ten and Johnny-hyung.”

Jaehyun blinks back up at him. “Ten?”

Taeyong nearly bites off his own tongue. “Never mind.”

“Why’d you bother Ten?”

“Never mind—”

Jaehyun frees his hands and reaches up to tangle them in Taeyong’s short blond hair, yanking a little sharply. He drapes one leg around Taeyong’s hips, locks their pelvises together so there’s no way Taeyong can miss exactly where they’re going. For a moment they’re both so distracted by the feel of each other that Taeyong forgets their entire conversation, all thoughts that aren’t _more_ , and _hot_ , and _Jaehyun-ah_ , gone from his head as he moves his hips in tiny figure eights, both too hard and not enough and making Jaehyun hiccup right up against Taeyong’s ear.

“Taeyongie-hyung,” he gets out, flushed again and still somehow managing to smirk. “You just—I need—”

Taeyong shifts his hips forward until he’s not thrusting so much as pressing right up against where he knows Jaehyun’s knot is. Jaehyun’s mouth opens soundlessly and he heaves out loud, noisy breaths. It’s a lot. Taeyong doesn’t know what’s come over him, why he wants to make it hurt a little, why the way Jaehyun keeps shifting between taking it and snarling like he wants to fight him is getting to him, but it is. The amount of pheromones in the air has to be utterly indecent, but Taeyong’s too caught up in everything to even notice. “We should open a window,” he mumbles into Jaehyun’s hair, pressing his mouth down against his temple and just sort of holding him. “God—”

Jaehyun’s got one hand on the back of Taeyong’s neck and the other fisted in his blankets and sheets. “Touch me,” he says finally, looking a little put off but ultimately not at all upset that he is—its like he _likes_ that he is, and isn’t that something, isn’t that worth exploring?

Taeyong works a hand between them before his brain can come back online and does so, worms his fingers under the band of Jaehyun’s sweatpants to pet at the top of his boxers, not quite brave enough to go further. “Jaehyun—”

“God, Taeyong, will you just—” Jaehyun scrambles against the bed trying to sit up, letting his leg down from around Taeyong’s hips in the process. He starts moving and Taeyong immediately feels a growl start deep in his chest, has both hands holding both Jaehyun’s wrists before he can stop to think.

“Jaehyun-ah,” he says, voice low.

Jaehyun lies under him with his chest heaving, eyes very wide.

Taeyong bends his arms and presses both of his hands into the bed on either side of Jaehyun’s head. “Stay,” he breathes, right up against Jaehyun’s lower cheek.

Jaehyun’s eyes flutter closed, but he doesn’t move.

Taeyong very gently lets go and leans down to kiss him. “Good boy—”

The words have barely left his mouth before Jaehyun is moving—one shudder, one little quiver of pleasure, and then Jaehyun is somehow twisting them so that Taeyong’s the one on his back, wrists pinned up by his head, legs kicked wide to let Jaehyun settle in between them. “Now who’s the good boy?” Jaehyun says.

Taeyong gapes at him.

Jaehyun’s smug expression starts to dim. He lets go of Taeyong’s wrists. “I mean—is this—I love you, sorry, hyu— _ng_!” His sentence ends in a high pitched yelp as Taeyong lunges up for him, half trying to flip them and also just trying to tickle him to no avail. “Oh my God,” Jaehyun says. “What are you—” He plants both knees against Taeyong’s assault, holding him down with upper body strength alone.

“Jaehyun-ah,” Taeyong says, continuing to grapple with him only half seriously. He stops trying to push against Jaehyun’s hold on his wrists, and switches tactics. Jaehyun is clearly not expecting it, ends up pulled right up close to Taeyong’s chest before he can even start to fight back. “You’re so annoying,” Taeyong says right up against Jaehyun’s ear. “Hyung just wants to _fuck_ you.”

The fight goes out of Jaehyun for a quick second before he goes back to doing his best to resist, though with significantly less finesse this time around. Mostly he’s trying to get his face out of Taeyong’s chest, the hold on Taeyong’s wrists forgotten.

“Don’t you want to let me?” Taeyong growls out, nothing in his tone but pure alpha. He clutches with one hand around the curve of Jaehyun’s back, but slides the other hand lower and lower until it hits the bare skin at almost his ass, slides lower until he’s hooking a pinky under his sweats and boxers.

Jaehyun chokes out a groaned little gasp, and flops bonelessly down onto Taeyong. “N—yes,” he says, in a moan.

Taeyong pauses, holding very still. He lets go of his hold on Jaehyun’s back. “No?” He’s aware his voice sounds small, but he can’t help himself. Jaehyun refuses to be rolled off of Taeyong, face buried into his chest and not budging until Taeyong gets up on both elbows and heaves, back resting against the wall. “Jaehyunnie—”

Jaehyun drops down onto the bed on his back his with one arm over his eyes, bites at the skin of his underarm before finally looking at Taeyong, his hair shoved off his forehead and his cheeks pink. “Yes,” he says. “Yes, I want you to, fuck, Taeyong-hyung, you’re so much work, why are you so much work—”

Taeyong glares at him. “You said no,” he says. “I’m not doing it if you say no—”

Jaehyun glares right back. “I said yes,” he says. “It was—instinct.”

Taeyong keeps glaring at him. Jaehyun squirms on the bed. He heaves out a sigh, stares at his ceiling for a moment, then rolls onto his side so he can put both arms around Taeyong’s neck, cuddling in close for a hug that has the added bonus of hiding his face from Taeyong’s view.

“I like it,” he says.

Taeyong blinks.

“I like… this.” There’s a pause, and then one of Jaehyun’s hands slides free so that he can grab Taeyong by the dick.

Taeyong blinks again, embarrassed on top of confused, and then bites his tongue when Jaehyun slides his hands underneath his pants and past the barrier of his underwear to hold him right by the knot.

“I like _this_ ,” he says again, with a squeeze that leaves nothing to the imagination. “I like that you’re—I like that you’re _this_.”

Taeyong wonders if he should feel offended.

“You know what I mean!” Jaehyun says. “I like that you fight me,” he continues, back to hiding out in the groove of Taeyong’s collar bones. “I like that you _can_ fight me,” he says, starting to stroke a little, which is very unfair. “I like that you _want_ to fight me.”

Taeyong reaches out and tugs his chin up so he can look at him, takes in the embarrassed flush to his cheeks, the serious downturn to his mouth. “Jaehyun, you’ve had sex before—”

“Obviously, haven’t you?” Jaehyun finally lets go of Taeyong’s dick, seeming to realize that they’re not continuing at all until they’ve had this conversation, and burrows further into Taeyong’s neck, hiding. Then he lifts his head again, meets Taeyong’s eyes like the alpha he is, like the _person_ he is, and waits.

Taeyong keeps looking at him, then leans in to kiss him briefly on the nose. “No,” he says straightforwardly.

Jaehyun’s mouth falls open. “What—”

“I was very much an asshole in school, as you know,” explains Taeyong. “And then I was very busy being famous.”

Jaehyun is gaping. “Well, yeah,” he says. “Me too. But you’re—” He breaks off, clearly embarrassed, and lies there without speaking.

Taeyong raises an eyebrow. “And I’m… ?” he asks.

“Being a dick,” says Jaehyun, embarrassed. He ducks his head. “Really handsome.”

Taeyong keeps his brow raised and ignores the compliment. “I thought you liked that,” he somehow manages. “Me being a dick.” It’s possible the words get clogged in his throat.

Jaehyun punches him in the arm. “You weren’t an asshole in school,” he says. “I knew you when you were in school. You were my favorite—” He breaks off, cheeks burning. “Shut up—I hate—” He looks miserable and like he can’t even finish that sentence. “Why am I in love with you?” he says finally, staring up at Taeyong balefully.

Taeyong’s heart feels so full it could burst. He grins. “I love you too,” he says happily. And he does. They’re probably going to have to talk about this. They’re definitely going to have to deal with this. Taeyong can already tell that not even the prospect of good sex is going to be enough to turn Jaehyun off taunting him, and even in everyday life Taeyong ends up ready to strangle him. It has the potential to get messy fast, in rut—which Taeyong isn’t thinking about spending with Jaehyun because he _hates being in rut_ ; can’t stand the passion, the quickness to anger, the lack of control—it has the potential to be unforgivable, and Taeyong has been on the opposite end of unforgivable hatred before, and he doesn’t know if he’d be able to go on if Jaehyun ever looked at him like that.

But Jaehyun is clearly into it and Taeyong can’t think straight when he smells like that and it’s _a fucking lot_ , Taeyong realizes, two alphas with two very different personalities and one poor, poor band, stuck in the middle—

“I _love_ you,” he tells Jaehyun again.

Jaehyun makes a face. “You’re going to be one of those boyfriends,” he says.

Taeyong turns the word over and over in his brain. “Boyfriend,” he says.

Jaehyun groans. “Hyung—”

“You’re my boyfriend,” Taeyong says, gleeful. “You love it. You were born on Valentine’s Day.”

Jaehyun whines, dragging his arm back up to shield his eyes. “Hyung,” he says again. “Move over.” He hip checks Taeyong into the wall a little. “If you’re not going to fuck me at least let me jerk off—” He’s kicked off his sweatpants and peeled down his boxers before Taeyong can so much as blink, but Taeyong very quickly gets with the program, reaches out with one hand to palm one of Jaehyun’s perfectly pale hips, stilling him.

“Who said I wasn’t going to fuck you?” Taeyong says, voice low.

Jaehyun peeks out from between his fingers, expression hopeful.

Taeyong steels his resolve. “Where’s your lube?” he says.

Jaehyun looks quite like he would be willing to write Taeyong a detailed map, which Taeyong finds cute, for the length of time it takes him to get the lube, pour liberal amounts of the lube on his fingers, and put two of them into Jaehyun.

At about that point, Taeyong’s old friend panic returns from war. “This was a bad idea,” Taeyong says, feeling quite like he’s having an out of body experience. Jaehyun’s ended up face down on the bed on his side, a position he fought tooth and nail for when Taeyong tried to put him on his back.

“Absolutely not,” he said, going a beautiful shade of pink, and practically took Taeyong’s eye out when he tried to force the issue. Although it wasn’t like Taeyong was really forcing the issue so much as trying to push Jaehyun’s buttons; feeling out the edges of boundaries they were definitely going to sit down and talk about, never mind how hot Taeyong’s ears got just thinking about it, let alone doing it.

Taeyong’s on his side too, although he’s mostly draped over Jaehyun so he can get a better angle, and so he can see what he’s doing. They’ve lost all of their clothes, tossed them this way and that way and someone’s sweatpants definitely landed on Jaehyun’s brand new turntable and probably messed up his record collection but neither of them really cared, in the heat of it, because they were naked, and there was all this skin, and Taeyong had been writing love songs about beautiful people with beautiful, milky white skin for _three damn years_ , so. Jaehyun’s record collection could suck it, basically.

Taeyong’s on his side with his cock almost brushing Jaehyun’s back and his chin bumping up against the back of Jaehyun’s neck and he’s got two fingers thrusting into him, with lube, and quite a lot of mess, and noise, and lack of finesse, and—

“This is a bad idea,” Taeyong says again.

Jaehyun tosses his hair off his face and turns so that he’s not smothering himself into the pillows, blinking over his shoulder blearily at Taeyong. “What is?” His voice sounds like a car wreck, like a three-car pileup—a ten-car pileup. “You talking instead of giving me your whole hand?”

Taeyong looks down at his index and middle finger, swallows, and lets his ring finger bump against Jaehyun’s ass before he can stop himself. He thinks about his knot. He… doesn’t think about the utter _sin_ that just came out of Jaehyun’s mouth. “No—you—”

Jaehyun is hissing, biting at his lower lip and humping his hips into the bed almost confusedly, a furrow marring his perfect features right between the brows. “This is weird,” he gasps out. “Oh—it’s weird—I don’t—”

Taeyong moves to pull out and Jaehyun growls at him, flailing a hand back so that he can almost strangle him, though Taeyong dodges, bemused. “If you stop, I’m going to _kill you_ ,” he snarls. “I just mean it’s weird because my body is telling me I need to put my cock in something, not… roll over and let you get me ready to put your cock in _me_.” He breaks off, barks out some sort of weird laugh. “You’ll get it later—”

“It’s a bad idea,” says Taeyong for the third time, but he doesn’t stop; he doesn’t have a death wish. “Doing it this way around.”

Jaehyun drops his right arm back down and hunches his hips back, groaning. “Give me another—”

Somehow Taeyong does. “We should switch,” he says regardless. “Like. We should do this the other way around.” He’s used an awful lot of lube so it’s not like it’s difficult to ease in his ring finger, but Jaehyun is very tight and can’t seem to stop clenching, tightening around Taeyong’s fingers so that he can’t move without making Jaehyun whine. “You fucking me,” Taeyong adds, in case that wasn’t clear. He takes advantage of Jaehyun’s momentary lapse in control to spread all three fingers a little, almost running on autopilot. “You’ve done this before, I mean.” On the next stroke in, he curls all three fingers. “You’d you know what you were doing.” Jaehyun’s starting to pant again, head resting on both forearms, and Taeyong presses his other hand into the dip of his lower back, makes him arch into it. “I don’t know what I’m doing.” That last bit comes out more to himself.

This time Jaehyun twists his head all the way to the left, a sliver of eye glinting at Taeyong from between where his neck meets his shoulder.

“You’ve slept with women,” Taeyong explains.

Jaehyun twists even more, torso moving in a way that can’t be entirely comfortable. He scowls, scoffs, then flops back down onto his front and reaches back to paw at Taeyong until he’s hauled him around to look at him, leaving Taeyong’s right arm bent awkwardly so that he can keep all three fingers inside Jaehyun. “One woman,” Jaehyun says.

Taeyong opens his mouth to say that’s one more than him.

“And what do you mean don’t know what you’re doing?” Jaehyun’s nostrils flare. “You write all of those songs.” He pauses. “Are all of your songs _lies_?”

Taeyong stares at him, aghast, and with accuracy he didn’t know he had, curls all three fingers until he bumps against what has to be Jaehyun’s prostate, given the sudden squeak he makes, releasing his hold on Taeyong and pitching face forward back onto the bed. “How dare you,” Taeyong says, ignoring all of this because he’s honestly offended. “I work really hard on all my songs.”

Jaehyun’s making a high, broken sounding noise and practically ripping at his own sheets, but Taeyong isn’t focusing on that, isn’t aware of the fact that he’s putting a considerable amount of unrelenting pressure right up against Jaehyun’s prostate.

“I’ve spent _years_ on some of my songs.” Taeyong’s thinking of “Yesterday,” of “My Van,” of “Whiplash,” of the stuff that he hasn’t released that the fans know about; of the stuff he hasn’t released that the fans _don’t_ know about; the demos in his voice memos that no one’s ever heard. “My songs come from the heart.”

Jaehyun has stopped moaning and is instead just miserably humping at his blankets, both hands still buried in his sheets even though Taeyong is sure he’d love to be stroking his own dick right about now, putting pressure on his knot. He’s got both eyes shut and his mouth bitten raw and his breath is doing that hiccupping thing again, coming out in little punches almost like he’s crying. “Taeyongie-hyung,” he says.

Taeyong stares down at him and feels his entire body _shudder_ , an ache staring in his own groin, around his own knot. On every breath he can _taste_ Jaehyun, how worked up he is, how close to blowing, with no pressure, no contact, only poor attempts at friction against a too-soft mattress and bedding that will have to be laundered immediately following.

“I am a lyrical _genius_ ,” Taeyong says, mostly just for show now. He doesn’t know what it means, that Jaehyun likes this. He doesn’t know what it means that _he_ likes this, likes watching Jaehyun’s ears burn, likes listening to Jaehyun’s heart pound, likes watching Jaehyun’s muscles churn.

After what feels like hours, Jaehyun finally seems to relax, hips stilling and one last noise escaping his mouth. He lifts his head off the bed and tosses his hair out of his eyes. He looks over his shoulder at Taeyong. “Well?” he says.

And Taeyong had been panicking, a few minutes earlier, when the full reality of the situation started to sink in, along with his fingers. He’s still kind of panicking a little, probably will always be panicking a little, because deep under all his bluster he’s a romantic (and Jaehyunnie is too) and he thinks this could be it for him, the person he wants to spend the rest of his life with, the love of his life, his soulmate, and it’s scary, because of who they are, and where they are, and what comes next. More albums, more touring, more concerts, enlistment, the very sad reality that dating is a death sentence, in this line of work, and marriage—mating—is a funeral announcement, something to prompt full scale social media attacks on Twitter, hashtag such-and-such out.

Taeyong looks at Jaehyun wants to hold him for the rest of his life, and wouldn’t any sane person panic a little bit about that? They were eighteen and sixteen, nineteen and seventeen, twenty and eighteen. They were young and stupid and fought like cats and dogs, because they didn’t have almost eight years of friendship holding them together. They were both alphas, _are both alphas_ , and Taeyong _loves_ Jaehyun.

“Taeyongie-hyung,” Jaehyun whines out, snapping Taeyong right out of his thoughts. He’s gone up onto his hands and knees, head pressed into the mattress, back a little arched. Taeyong’s fingers have almost come out, and he very quickly presses them all back in. “Hurry up. _Faster_.”

“Nobody tell Donghyuck this is a surefire way to get you to do agyeo,” Taeyong can’t help but say, but slides his pinky into Jaehyun obligingly. He’s so loose at this point that it’s an easy fit, less about getting him ready so much as it is making music against his prostate until he’s ready to start throwing fists.

“You are the _worst_ person in this _entire band_ and I hate you and wish I’d never met you—”

“Say that when your knot’s not about to pop, Jaehyun-ah, please,” says Taeyong, with bravado he didn’t know he had.

“Oh, _fuck off—_ ”

Then it’s squirting lube out onto the tip of his cock, working the same hand that was almost all the way inside Jaehyun up and down right up to ridge of his knot, and the sound of Jaehyun’s mouth, opening wide in a near-noiseless gasp, when Taeyong starts to push in.

“Okay,” says Jaehyun after a pause. “Okay, so, that’s weird.”

Taeyong cracks an eye at him, shaking with the control required not to bury himself to the base. It’s hard, because instinct says all of Taeyong’s partners ought to be wet and ready for him without the need for fingers.

“Like.” Jaehyun’s slipping in and out of Korean like he can’t help himself, like Taeyong’s fucking him right back into practicing for their North American tour. “I just mean like. What I was saying before— _shit—_ ”

Taeyong’s bottomed out, slid the entirety of his cock all the way into Jaehyun’s ass until their hips meet, and it’s not like he’s knotted, not like it’ll be at the end, but clearly Jaehyun is already affected.

“Nghhh,” Jaehyun says. “It’s weird.” He fucks forward into the air a bit and then backward onto Taeyong’s cock a bit and then rubs his face into the bed a bit almost as if to soothe himself. “Fuck—you’ll understand—”

Taeyong puts both hands on Jaehyun’s waist and holds him down, groaning. “Look, Jaehyunnie, what I was saying earlier, I mean, the other way around—I bought a dildo—it has an inflatable knot—”

Jaehyun makes an odd noise and shoves back particularly hard. “You bought a what?”

“My point is—” Taeyong doesn’t know what his point is, doesn’t have room in his head for what his point is, has only the barest amount of ability to even continue _speaking_. He buries his face at the back of Jaehyun’s neck and fucks into him, holds him by the hips and grinds in circles. Jaehyun is lovely. Jaehyun is tight and warm and lovely. Jaehyun smells lovely, tastes lovely, sighs and moans and gasps when Taeyong licks him across the back of neck, lowers his mouth to the skin there and starts to suck.

“Thought you said—no marks—” Something makes a noise, two little chirps that Taeyong hears like he’s stuck in molasses, almost familiar, but not quite when he’s balls deep in the love of his life and so close to coming, so close to knotting, for the first time, for the only time, tied up tight with Jaehyun, his Jaehyunnie, Jeong Jaehyun.

Jaehyun is irresistible, Jaehyun is a walking wet dream, Jaehyun is—

Jaehyun is on his phone.

“What are you doing?” Taeyong says, shifting his grip on Jaehyun’s hips so that he can haul him up onto just his knees and make a grab for the device.

Jaehyun goes, gasping, but even as he keeps clenching down and making pretty, pretty noises, he’s still fighting Taeyong, not even looking at what he’s doing but refusing to give up the phone regardless. “Texting—Mark—” he says, both hands involved in the process and from the looks of it, just sort of key smashing mindlessly. It looks like he actually is replying to Mark, although what for, Taeyong has no idea.

“Why are you texting Mark?”

“He—texted me—first,” Jaehyun says, giving up on trying to reply and now just trying to keep Taeyong from getting hold of his phone. “Wanted to let me know—we had to be—decent—when he came back.”

Taeyong stares at him. “I have my entire dick in you,” he says, with a sharp little thrust that makes Jaehyun groan. “And you’re texting Mark.”

“I mean—my phone was right there,” Jaehyun pants out, having the audacity to smirk at Taeyong over his shoulder now. “Didn’t you hear it beep?”

“Give me that,” Taeyong says, finally grabbing the thing and setting it back down on the headboard. “Jaehyun-ah.”

Jaehyun throws his head back against Taeyong’s neck and moans, loud and unrestrained. “You’re such a dick, Taeyongie-hyung,” he says. “Mark’s like my best friend. Maybe even my soulmate—”

“He is not,” Taeyong says, hips snapping faster now, hold on Jaehyun’s waist harder now. “He is _not—_ ”

“He—could be,” Jaehyun says, thoroughly enjoying himself, clearly, as Taeyong drags the hand that stole his phone back down to wrap around the base of Jaehyun’s cock, where he holds right at the knot like he’s going to give him much needed pressure, but actually just strokes a little to keep holding off Jaehyun’s orgasm.

“He is _not_ ,” Taeyong growls, dropping one shoulder and rolling so that they’re on their sides now, Jaehyun’s head fully thrown back now, his Adam’s apple visibly bobbing on each breath. “It was just a love bite.” Taeyong punctuates the statement with a nip to Jaehyun’s own neck, closer to his shoulder more than anything, and Jaehyun immediately drops his head forward again so that he can arch his back better, push his ass into it so that Taeyong’s knot starts to catch on his rim.

“Oh fuck,” Jaehyun says, doing it again and again and gasping. “Fuck—Hyung—knot me—”

And Taeyong really wishes he’d waited until Ten’s dildo arrived so he could have full confidence that he’s not going to break Jaehyun, but he can’t help himself, finds himself curving forward and fucking deeper and starting to do just that, leaning in and kissing Jaehyun on the back of the neck somewhat desperately, instinct saying bite but common sense saying don’t you dare. They should do it again but with Jaehyun all the way face down, like how he’d started before he decided to text. Taeyong can’t move them now, doesn’t want to move them now, doesn’t think he can manhandle Jaehyun around enough so that he can go to town on part of him that will be very safely covered up during the show and _Inkigayo_ recording. “Can we go again?” Taeyong says, still sucking on the back of Jaehyun’s neck and fucking in small circles and he feels himself start to come, start to knot, Jaehyun clenched tight around him like perfect, perfect heat.

Jaehyun’s got his head rolled all the way back on Taeyong’s shoulder and he’s breathing hard, not even moving, frozen on Taeyong’s rapidly growing knot with his mouth hanging open. He manages to crack an eye. “Can we—go again?” he asks, words broken up by panting. “You—really?”

Taeyong leans in to kiss him on the jugular again, a sweet little peck that is completed ruined by the fact that at that exact moment he feels himself knot all the way, pelvis tucked up tight against the back of Jaehyun’s thighs. “I wanna bite you,” Taeyong admits, because who has time for boundaries when you’re coming your brains out. “Wanna. Mark you.”

Jaehyun rolls his head against Taeyong’s shoulder so that he can turn to kiss Taeyong on the neck, on the jaw, which turns into a sharp, reprimanding little bite. “Taeyong-ah,” he says, and the little shit didn’t even _ask_. “I want to _come_.”

Taeyong looks down at Jaehyun’s cock immediately, notes the flush, the wet tip, the fact that it’s clear that he at least got part of the way, without being touched. Taeyong reaches down and takes him in hand and strokes, eyes locked on the contrast between the skin of his hand and the skin of Jaehyun’s dick, flushed so, so angry red.

Jaehyun hisses, head coming off Taeyong’s shoulder so he can look down himself, but then he groans, swears, and drops it right back down. “Taeyongie-hyung,” he says. “Not like that—”

Taeyong drags his fingers down to the head and rubs harshly right at the slit, slicing Jaehyun’s sentence off clean at the ankles.

“Please—”

He works his fingers back up to the base of Jaehyun’s cock to his knot, and holds, and answering throb in his own knot, buried deep.

Jaehyun seems to catch on to what he’s thinking because he all of a sudden clenches down, and Taeyong gasps, surprised, and his hand _tightens_.

“Yes—yes— _yes—fuck—_ Taeyong-ah—”

“I didn’t tell you you could call me that, Jaehyun-ah,” Taeyong hears himself say, as if through a fog.

“What are you—going to do—about it?” Jaehyun gasps out, having the audacity to smirk.

Taeyong tightens his hold on Jaehyun’s knot until Jaehyun comes, gasping, forehead all scrunched up and his hips making aborted little pulls to get away, even as Taeoyng’s knot keeps him from doing so.

“Stop that. Stop moving. You’ll hurt yourself—”

“Oh—fuck— _make me—_ ”

Taeyong lets go of his dick and slides his wet, messy hand all the way up Jaehyun’s chest to hold him by the throat, not even really applying pressure, and then curves his thumbs up to take him by the jaw and lead him around so that he can kiss him. They both have to twist and it’s uncomfortable and making Taeyong’s head spin but it’s everything he’s ever wanted, kissing Jaehyun, so it doesn’t matter.

“God,” Jaehyun says, once they’ve pulled apart and he’s back to panting on his side with his ass stuffed full of Taeyong’s cock, of Taeyong’s knot, and all that come. “I fucking love your cock.”

Taeyong can’t quite help but laugh, startled and happy and beyond words, the entire sentence funny when all of Taeyong’s brain cells are trying fruitlessly to impregnate the love of his life. “I fucking love your cock too, Jaehyun-ah,” he says. “And.” He swallows. “Banmal whenever you want and we’re alone.”

Jaehyun fucking dimples at him. “And with the band,” he says. “Alone without fans—”

“Alone with just you and me,” Taeyong tries to say, but Jaehyun just laughs, and pokes his tongue between his teeth.

“Okay, Hyung,” he choruses, the picture of refusing to listen.

Taeyong could just smack him, but it’s likely Jaehyun would be somewhat into that.

They go another round nearly an hour and a half later, after Taeyong’s knot finally manages to go down enough for them to separate, and they nap, curled together like quotations. Taeyong wakes up and blows him, works his way down his chest leaving bruising kisses and _blows_ him, holds hips down and refuses to put pressure on his knot for the entire. Fucking. Time.

Jaehyun gets up to put on a record to set the mood, only to return mere seconds later with a flush at the tips of both ears.

“What?” Taeyong says. “What’s the matter—”

“I’m sore,” Jaehyun says. “I’m leaking—”

The only natural response is for Taeyong to put him on his belly properly and do his best to stuff him full of even more come, kiss and suck at his shoulder blades until he’s as good as claimed him, there’s so much damage.

“Mmm, gosh, that’s going to make lying down hard,” Jaehyun says well into the aftermath, more than a little winded. “What if I could only sleep on my back?”

Taeyong manages to tear his eyes away from the scattering of bruises across Jaehyun’s shoulder blades, distractedly reaching one finger out to trace a brand-new constellation against Jaehyun’s ivory pale skin. “I’m sorry, what?” he says. “Did you say something?”

Jaehyun drops his head down onto his forearms, pillow dragged between them haphazardly. “You didn’t knot for as long this time,” he says.

Taeyong raises a brow. “Jaehyun-ah,” he says. “It’s a wonder I even got my dick hard enough to put it in you.”

Jaehyun snorts. “We slept for like an hour,” he points out. “What is your refractory period. How old _are_ you—”

“Yah.” Taeyong presses a little harder against his back and then starts to pull out, hissing at the drag. “Jaehyun-ah.”

Jaehyun makes a little noise of protest which he very quickly turns into a sigh. “Yeah.” He shifts his legs. “You’re such a good hyung, Taeyong-ah.”

Taeyong goes a little cross-eyed because of the confusing variance in respect riddled throughout that entire sentence, but he can’t help but inhale very sharply at the praise.

Jaehyun doesn’t move. “Really, Hyung?”

“Shut up.”

“You’re into compliments, Hyung?”

“Shut up.”

“People tell you you’re talented and pretty and cute and their favorite all the time, Hyung.”

“Shut up—they’re not—” Taeyong breaks off, embarrassed.

Jaehyun finally lifts his head, looks back at Taeyong over his shoulder and quirks one side of his mouth. “Not me?” he says.

“Shut up,” Taeyong tells him, and flops down almost on top of him, taking great joy in the groan that earns him, all the air clearly forced right out of Jaehyun’s lungs.

“Ow, fuck, _Hyung_ ,” Jaehyun says, shifting around so that he’s not quite on his back, but so that Taeyong has room to get his head on the pillow. It’s cold in the room but the blankets are pretty much unusable, at this point, so either they send someone out to raid a closet, steal them off someone else’s bed, or they shiver together.

“I should take a shower,” Taeyong says.

Jaehyun hums.

“Love you,” Taeyong adds. “I’ll steal Yuta’s blankets.”

Jaehyun cackles, clearly pleased. “No, don’t, I have to live on his floor. Take… Mark’s instead. My… soulmate.” It’s obvious Jaehyun is basically asleep.

Taeyong drops a kiss on the back of his neck and gets up to go make use of the bathroom.

* * *

When Taeyong comes out of the shower twenty minutes later still humming the end of “Angel,” it’s to find Taeil-hyung seated on the couch outside the door, holding his toothbrush in one hand, and his phone in the other. He looks like he’s been laughing. He scares the living daylights out of Taeyong, who totally doesn’t let out a startled shriek.

“Ah, Hyung, you scared me!” Taeyong says, clutching at his chest with both hands. He’s glad he had the foresight to take clothes into the bathroom with him, so at least he’s not naked and afraid, but he’s still very, very afraid. His heart is racing. “How—how long have you been there?”

Taeil-hyung leaps nimbly off the couch to go padding towards Taeyong and the bathroom. “I like what you were doing on the chorus, Taeyong-ah,” he says as he passes. “Nice adlibs.”

Taeyong automatically starts to bow. “Thank you—”

“Congratulations on losing your virginity, also,” says Taeil-hyung, and closes the door.

Taeyong stands in shocked silence for several seconds.

“What’s wrong with you?” mumbles Jaehyun, when Taeyong comes back into his room dragging a spare blanket he nicked out of one of the dorm closets. He’s gone to sleep under the dirty blankets, it seems, but he doesn’t put up much of a fuss when Taeyong throws them off him, pulling a mildly disgusted face.

“Taeil-hyung’s back,” Taeyong says instead of answering. He gets in the bed, having to herd Jaehyun a little into the wall to make space.

Jaehyun secedes part of the pillow without comment. “Hmm,” he says. “But no Mark?”

Taeyong thumps him on the back gently. “I’m not fucking you again,” he says.

Jaehyun nestles deeper into his pillow. “Pity,” he says. “It would hurt.”

Taeyong doesn’t know what to even do with him.

“Love you, Taeyongie-hyung,” Jaehyun adds, going right back to sleeping.

Taeyong heaves a deep sigh. “Yeah, me too,” he mumbles. “You really should shower—you reek—”

“I smell like you,” says Jaehyun. “Like both of us. You like it.”

That’s true. Taeyong closes his eyes.

* * *

He wakes up what feels like days later to the sound of voices in the hall—Jaehyun, obviously, but Mark also—and can’t quite go back to sleep. He lies there on his back underneath the top floor spare blanket and stares up at Jaehyun’s ceiling, trying to make out words. Mark’s odorous as always, but Taeyong doesn’t want to get up. Finally, he does, once he can hear Jaehyun laughing and Mark smells much less panicked. The door creaks as it opens.

Jaehyun’s in the bathroom doorway in just a towel.

Mark’s practically cowering up against a wall.

Taeyong squints between them.

Mark takes a step back.

Taeyong focuses on Jaehyun. “Why are you taking so long?”

“Well since neither of us can get pregnant and you didn’t use a condom—”

Immediately Mark starts laughing somewhat hysterically, and Taeyong can only turn to stare at him, taken aback. “Goodnight, Taeyong-hyung, Jaehyun-hyung!” Mark near shouts, basically sprinting the distance to his room, and disappearing behind the door.

Taeyong can practically see the cartoon dust left in his wake. He turns to Jaehyun. “What did you do to him?”

“Nothing.” Jaehyun drops the towel before he’s even all the way in the room, naked and unbothered by that.

Taeyong bends to pick it up with a scowl. When he stands, Jaehyun’s already back in bed. “You’re not going to put on pajamas?”

Jaehyun shoots him a patronizing look.

“Right.” Taeyong pauses, shuts Jaehyun’s door, and then shoves off his own shirt, kicks off his boxers. He heads back to the bed. Jaehyun’s warm, like a furnace, and easy to cuddle up against. It’s a little uncomfortable for a second, lying together in the dark completely naked, but then, it’s _not_ weird, because they’re… they’re—

“Taeyong-hyung,” Jaehyun says, reaching behind his head with a groan. “You’re thinking so _loud_.” He comes back with his phone, lights up the room and makes Taeyong’s eyes water because of the screen brightness.

“Ouch. Jaehyunnie—”

Jaehyun unlocks his phone without pausing, flipping into KakaoTalk with ease.

Taeyong is dating a fucking Gen Z _fetus_. He shuts his eyes. Jaehyun starts typing. He opens his eyes. He pauses. “Why are you sending Johnny-hyung like four hundred of the present emoji?”

Jaehyun doesn’t even stop for a second. “It’s a box,” he says.

Taeyong blinks, but that sentence makes no more sense on the flipside. “What?”

“I’m sending Johnny-hyung like four hundred boxes,” Jaehyun says, polishing off his message with a dimpled grin. He’s attractive even when lit only by his phone screen and viewed mostly from below. Nobody should look attractive lit only by a phone screen and mostly from below.

Taeyong blinks some more. “Boxes,” he says. “Boxes,” he repeats, for some reason the word catching on the back of his brain like a claw, like an itch, and Taeyong gives in and _scratches_. “Wait,” he says. “Wait. Johnny-hyung. Boxes. Johnny-hyung.” He tries to sit up and then gives up quickly because Jaehyun’s bed is so fucking small. “Jaehyun-ah.”

Jaehyun’s moved on from the present emoji and is now apparently scouring the internet for a reaction image of actual boxes—cats leaping out of them, for some reason. He keeps shooting Taeyong little looks as he scrolls, before settling on a particularly cute tabby sailing to freedom.

Taeyong opens and closes his mouth a few times. “Johnny-hyung said something about boxes,” he says finally.

Jaehyun hums, pasting the image into his chat with the man in question. `Hyung, it’s opennnnnnnnn`, Jaehyun types.

Taeyong stares at it, thinking hard, thinking fast. “Jaehyun-ah,” he says again, slowly. “Am I. Am _I_ the box?”

There’s a beat.

Jaehyun sets the phone down abruptly on his chest so that the room goes completely dark. “No.” His voice is high.

Taeyong reaches out to grab the phone and lifts it up so that Johnny and Jaehyun’s silent chat illuminates Jaehyun’s face. He can’t tell if he’s blushing because he still can’t really see much of anything, but he doesn’t need to. “I _am_ ,” he determines. “I am— _Jaehyun-ah_!”

Jaehyun’s trying to take the phone back. “Give me—give me my phone—Taeyong-hyung—”

“I’m the box!” Taeyong crows, pleased. “I’m the box—” He stops. “How long have I been the box?” He starts to think back, tries to remember all those inside jokes Johnny and Jaehyun had back when they were filming _Night Night_ , back when Mark was having a soulmate crisis over a love bite. “Jaehyun-ah,” he says. “Have you—since we were rookies, since I kissed you—”

“Hyung, it’s fine, it’s not a big deal—” Jaehyun gets the phone away from Taeyong but it does nothing, he’s already putting the pieces together, already having his world rocked.

“You too?” Taeyong says, thinking of how he buried his own feelings, how he didn’t notice his own feelings because he was a fucking idiot.

Jaehyun’s stuttering. “W-what?”

Taeyong picks up the phone and sets it on Jaehyun’s headboard with a thud. Then he cuddles into him, tucks his head underneath his chin and holds him _tight_. “I love you,” he whispers. For two seconds, Jaehyun doesn’t hold him back, then he settles gentle fingers into Taeyong’s hair, hooks his ankle around the back of Taeyong’s leg.

“I love you too,” he says.

Taeyong squeezes him harder, unable not to smile. Then he pauses. “Wait—who’s Johnny-hyung’s box, then?”

Jaehyun’s hand stills. “None of your business,” he says finally.

Taeyong tries to pull away to look at him, but Jaehyun doesn’t let go. His hand resumes stroking Taeyong’s hair.

“Yeah, okay,” Taeyong says. “But I’m the leader?”

“It’s not going to mess up the band,” Jaehyun says.

Taeyong pouts. “I’ll get it out of you eventually,” he mumbles.

Jaehyun sets his chin onto the top of Jaehyun’s head. “Sure.”

“I will.” Taeyong wiggles around to get more comfortable, shifting his arms so they won’t lose circulation quite so quickly. “I’m your _favorite_.”

Jaehyun stops petting his hair, but doesn’t say anything.

“I notice you’re not denying it,” Taeyong says.

Jaehyun shrugs.

Taeyong feels warm all over. “I should send Ten and Lucas a fruit basket,” he mumbles as he starts to doze. “Since they—” He yawns. “Jumpstarted me,” he finishes. 

Jaehyun lets out a loud breath. “Bring them one when you go to collect your inflatable dildo,” he says.

Taeyong stiffens. “You—I said that,” he remembers.

“You did.”

“I don’t suppose you could forget I said that?” Taeyong tries.

Jaehyun smirks right up against the crown of his head.

“Right,” Taeyong says. “You—”

“Go to _sleep_ , Taeyong-hyung.”

Taeyong hums and shuts his eyes to finally do so, drifts away to the sound of Jaehyun’s breathing.

* * *

The dildo arrives a full four weeks later, once NCT 127 are all back in Seoul after the tail end of their Japanese arena tour and have gone straight into final preparations for _Neo Zone_. Ten sends Taeyong a photo of the thing, taken straight out of the box and displayed in the center of their dorm like some sort of trophy. `I’ve thought of how you can repay me for this`, Ten says, sending a second photo of YangYang, bent over examining the thing with frightening focus. `You can come give YangYang the talk.`

“I hate him,” Taeyong tells Jaehyun. “I hate him.”

Jaehyun rests his chin on Taeyong’s shoulder to look at his phone. “Mmm,” he says, lips twitching. “Pink, really?”

Taeyong could just slap him.

Before he can, Jaehyun presses the tiniest of kisses to the slope of Taeyong’s shoulders, and like, Taeyong still hates Ten, and wants to fight him, and will probably combust the moment he sets foot in the WayV dorm and has to deliver the fucking… talk, but he also has Jaehyun, so. It’s not all bad.

In fact, it’s pretty fucking great, actually.

**Author's Note:**

> To everyone who read this before I realized I'd forgotten about the Transmedia Boom 18 NCT Dream schedule on December 14, please pretend I didn't perform frantic timeline surgery on this fic to remove Haechan from an _ENTIRE SCENE_ that is NOT WHO I AM— Also, to anyone reading this and going, “Wait, this was posted before all the album stuff even came out how did you—” let’s agree to never speak of that, either. ~~I am never writing canon the month of EVER AGAIN~~.
> 
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